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marvelwitchergilmore · 1 month

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Surprise Marriage

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you and Logan receive some...surprising news, it leads to a lot of unanswered questions.

Disclaimer: One or two swear words here and there. Mostly fluff, chaos, little angst, yearning, kissing and a happy ending. Not Proof Read.

The morning, so far, had been slow for Logan.

Which, thankfully, due to the last couple of years, wasn’t out of the ordinary. Sure, a kid or two might forget to have done their homework or the coffee filter hadn’t been changed. But other than the small, common, everyday mishaps, everything had been pretty normal.

But somehow, when Logan woke up, something felt off.

Maybe it was the quiet hallways, maybe it was the fact he hadn’t seen any other professors in the break room or around the school, or maybe it was the fact that when he walked into the Professor's office, everyone looked at him with…worry.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“Logan, I think it’s best if you sit down.”

Logan looked around everybody and they all looked worried, too. Not “someone’s dead” worried, but worried enough to make him feel uneasy.

“What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Y/n today?”

Logan shook his head. “She had a late night. She’s probably still sleeping.”

Professor X looked at Storm. “Go and get her for me, please.”

Storm nodded and made her way out of the door and towards your bedroom. Meanwhile, Logan was still confused.

“Charles, what’s going on?”

The man took a small sigh and looked at the papers on his desk before looking back up to Logan.

“Come on, clearly everyone else knows. What is it?”

The Professor went back and forth with himself for a minute before finally looking back up. “I suppose I should tell you. You’re married, Logan.”

Logan laughed. “Excuse me?”

“I received these papers this morning from a law firm in Oklahoma. It seems it took them a while to find an address for you both.”

“Both? What?”

“Here, take a look for yourself.” The Professor pushed the papers to the edge of his desk where Logan took them with caution and a lot of confusion.

“What the hell? When were these even..drawn up? Better yet, who’s my wife?”

“Well, that would be the other question except-”

Just as the Professor was about to finish his sentence, the door to his office opened and Storm walked in with you not far behind. Everyone looked at you…worriedly. Like they knew something you didn’t.

Logan looked annoyed as he flipped through a couple sheets of paper but when he saw you, he held the same expression but only for a minute then it turned into…into something else. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Then you remembered.

It had been laundry day.

And you wore one of his shirts to bed.

Standing in his t-shirt and some plaid pyjama shorts that you found in the back of your wardrobe, your hair down and slightly messy from having only just woken up, you looked around everyone.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, Y/n-”

“Take a look at this.” Logan handed you the pile of paper he had been reading, and with a slightly tired and confused look, you read through it.

What was it meant to be? A news article? A government contract? A kid’s essay who’s handwriting they couldn’t read…again?

But no.

It was anything but.

Well, maybe a government contract…of sorts.

“This is a marriage licence.” You spoke aloud. “Logan, why am I looking at a marriage licence at eight in the morning? Oh my god, are Jean and Scott finally getting hitched. About time.”

“No,” Logan said. “It’s ours.”

“What?”

“It’s ours. We’re married.”

You stopped reading. Even if you had pretended to do so, all the words on the page suddenly became blocks of ink that you couldn’t make out.

“What?”

Then the Professor started to explain. “We were hoping one of you could explain this to us, though if neither of you wish to, that’s completely fine. What happens between a husband and wife is none of our-”

“When did this even happen?” You asked Logan.

“I don’t know.”

“A law firm in Oklahoma sent it over. Apparently it’s taken them a while to find your address.”

You thought for a moment. Yourself and Logan hadn’t been in Oklahoma for nearly ten months. And you certainly didn’t get married. At least, not from memory.

“I need to sit down.”

Logan pushed out the chair beside him with his foot and you fell into the softer leather. You had just woken up and all of a sudden you felt like you wanted to sleep for at least a month.

“We’re married? Are you sure it’s ours? Maybe they got the addresses mixed up and…I don’t know. Got it wrong?”

Logan leaned back and pressed his hand to the side of his face. “Flipped to the back page.”

And so you did.

There was your name. And Logan’s. Signed and dated.

You were married to Logan.

Logan had become your husband as of ten months ago.

You had become Logan’s wife.

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Scott said. Jean hit him on the arm. “What?”

“Hard to not be a little offended at that.” Logan said, half under his breath, half to you.

“Do either of you know when this happened?”

You shook your head, still trying to read the pieces of paper in front of you. When could this have-

“The library.”

“What?”

Logan sat up. “We signed for a package. What kind of delivery company has us sign a marriage contract instead?”

“I don’t know but it had to be there. That’s the only time we ever…wrote our names, signed a piece of paper. It could have been this.”

“We would have noticed if it said “MARRIAGE LICENCE” at the top of the page.”

Then the bell rang.

“We…should pick this up later. For now, let's just try and go about today as normal.”

You could only nod in agreement. And as everyone left, the Professor turned to both you and Logan who were sitting facing each other in your chairs.

“I’ll give you both some time.”

Logan nodded a small thank you and waited until the door closed behind Xavier before he spoke.

You were silent. Still processing. Your heart was like rapid fire against your chest and your vision was slowly losing focus on the paper in front of you.

Logan pulled the paper from your hands and placed it on the desk before shuffling closer and holding onto both of your hands.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” One of Logan’s hands came to rest by the side of your face. “Just breathe. I can hear your heartbeat from here. Just…take a deep breath.”

“We’re married, Logan.” Your voice was quieter than usual.

“I know.”

“We’re married.”

Logan nodded. “I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“That one I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

You shrugged. “What are we meant to do? By all technicality…we’re married. Husband and Wife. According to this piece of paper, I’ve been a fraud to the government by not going by Howlett.”

“So we…we get a divorce?”

“How? Don’t there have to be…grounds for getting divorced?”

“So, we tell them it was a mistake.” Logan offered. “I’m sure we’ll be divorced as quick as we found out we were- are married.”

You could only nod.

Logan rubbed a thumb over each of your knuckles. “Hey, we’ll be okay. It’ll all be fine. Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I woke up and found out I’m a wife with a husband. That’s what’s going on. Jesus, are the lights always this bright in here?”

You covered your closed eyes with one hand, trying your best to stop the pounding in your head.

“How can you be so calm about this?”

Logan shrugged. “Figure you’re freaking out enough for the both of us.”

That made you laugh a little.

“Come on, we need to get to class. And you need to get dressed. Unless you want to teach in your pyjamas.”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about using your t-shirt. Laundry day.”

Logan smiled. “It’s okay. Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

Hours later, you found yourself in a pair of jeans you fished from the bottom of your semi-fresh clothes pile and decided to keep Logan’s t-shirt on. A, because it’s one of the most comfortable things you’ve worn, and B, it was the only clean top you had.

And after spending all day teaching classes, you found yourself going through each of your dirty items and throwing them into the washing machine, being careful to make sure there were no sneaky bright or dark colours that made their way into a wash they shouldn’t have been in.

“Hey.”

You turned to find Storm waiting by the door before walking inside.

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“After teaching a bunch of teenagers all day? Exhausted.” You said with a small laugh. And Storm chuckled for a moment before walking around you and leaning on the wall so she was facing you as you unloaded your dirty laundry into the machine.

“I know that feeling but that wasn’t why I was asking.”

You nodded. You knew that. “I don’t know. It’s just…new information.”

“Have you seen Logan today?”

You shook your head. “Not since this morning. Though he did leave a coffee on my desk when I got back to my classroom after lunch.”

Storm smiled. Between herself and the others (including the kids - though they were yet to find out) Storm thought the best thing to happen was for yourself and Logan to get married. Okay, maybe not in the way it happened. But it was a positive thing.

They had been watching you and Logan for years, becoming friends, becoming teammates, trusting each other, finding your own…ways together. Like with the coffee. Logan only did that with you. Or how, despite only knowing him a week, seemed to know more about him than anyone else did.

You were both so close with each other than some of the kids in the school had questioned your relationship status with each other.

“Have you talked about what you’re going to do?”

“What can we do? The most reasonable, and sensible, thing to do is get a divorce.”

Storm crossed her arms. “Have you talked about maybe…staying together?”

“What?”

Storm shrugged. “It’s an idea. Maybe this is a sign telling you both that there’s something more than just friendship. I mean, going off what you’re currently wearing…that is his, isn’t it?”

You looked down.

“It’s laundry day. He let me wear it.”

“And are you going to give it back, or did he tell you to keep it?”

You were silent and Storm watched as small patches of blush warmed your cheeks. She had her answer.

“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe this is a sign. Maybe this is your chance to see if there is something more between you and Logan.”

“If there was, something would have happened by now.”

Oh, how Storm wished that was true.

But sometimes it was agony watching you both together. Like how at Christmas, you fell asleep against him by the fire and Logan smiled. It wasn’t a big grin, but he smiled. Or how you were the only one Logan would let near him when he had been impaled in his shoulder by a six foot rod. Or how you looked at him. And how he looked at you right back.

There was more than just friendship. A lot more.

“Just think about it.”

And with that she left. And you were left wondering.

What the hell was there to think about? You and Logan were friends, sure, but…more? Sure, when you first met him, it felt instant. Instant likeness, instant trust. And that never came easy for you. Or Logan for that matter. And, yeah, maybe once or twice you had thought something could have happened.

Like the night in the motel room, funnily enough, in Oklahoma.

It had been one bed and you had both woken up and turned to face each other. You had both been talking for a good twenty minutes when the conversation lulled and you were both there. You felt something. You couldn’t put your finger on it but you felt something. But everything was cut short when the owner of the Motel came to knock on the door so he could fix the leaky tap in the bathroom.

Or like the night when you all went camping with the kids.

Somehow, you had found yourself sharing a tent with Logan even though it had been planned for you and Storm to bunk.

You teased Logan on how happy he was to be bunked with you and not Scott. And for a split second, you could have sworn you saw him blush. Though it was probably out of embarrassment of your teasing.

But that couldn’t have been something. It couldn’t have meant anything, could it?

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Logan turned and found the last person he expected to be standing by the door.

“Scott?”

“Figured you’d still be awake and lo and behold, I was right.”

Logan watched as he walked inside and sat across from him. “Have you come to say something, or just be a dick the whole time?”

Scott chuckled, “Maybe a bit of both.”

Logan raised his eyebrows and took another drink.

“Have you talked to her?” Logan knew exactly who he was talking about. But he shook his head.

“Not since this morning.”

“Have you talked about what you’re going to do?”

“What do you want, pal?”

Well, he wasn’t being Logan if he didn’t want to skip the pleasantries.

“I think you and Y/n should give this thing a chance.”

“Excuse me?”

Scott smirked a little. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve not thought about it with her. How close you two are, how you both seem to know what the other does before they even do it. And call it what you want, I think this is the perfect excuse.”

“Perfect excuse?”

“To see if something can actually happen between you two.”

“And why should it?”

“Because you’re in love with her.”

For some reason, that felt like a punch to the gut to Logan.

“Look, bub, I know-”

“Logan, the way you look at her isn’t the way a friend looks at another friend. I’ve seen the way you look at her. We all have. From day one, that girl has been something else for you, and even if you don’t know it, the rest of us do. You’re in love with her. You always have been.”

“No, I’m-”

“You can’t deny it, Logan.” Scott told him. “Eventually something is going to snap and it might be too late. So, you’ve done the whole relationship a little backwards. So what? You’d only get divorced anyway if it doesn’t work out. But you need to do something about your feelings, Logan.”

Logan had to laugh. “I think I’d know if I was in love with someone.”

Scott sighed. Did he seriously have to paint Logan a fucking picture.

“You make her coffee every day. You bring her lunch and sit with her every day. She is the first person you go to when you finally want to ask someone for help. And I know for a fact she is the first person you tell anything to. She knows more about you than anyone else in this building does, and that is down to you and everything you have shared with her. Anytime anyone looks in her direction, you aren’t too far behind her.”

“I saw you, that day, when the Mayor and his brother turned up at the school.” Scott continued. “The way his brother was looking her up and down…Logan you were by her side in less than ten seconds and we all saw the look you gave him. That man left the Professor’s office trembling. He also never looked in y/n’s direction again.”

“What’s your point?”

“That you were jealous, Logan. And that, for as much as you can and probably will try and deny it. You love her.”

The conversation lulled for a moment.

“All I’m saying is at least think about it. We’ve all seen you together. Maybe it’s time you finally noticed yourself.”

Logan didn’t see you until the next day when he caught you folding laundry in your room.

“Want some help?”

You turned around and saw him. “Sure. You can start with that pile.”

Logan entered your room, a little more awkward than usual, and started folding clothes.

“How are you…how are you feeling?”

You shrugged. “Like normal, I guess. What about you?”

“Yeah, fine.”

IT was a slight struggle after that but conversation flowed a little easier eventually.

That was something Logan always loved when it came to being around you. He wasn’t the biggest one for talking to people but with you, it was easy. Probably helped by the fact you could somehow change topics at lightning speed.

Conversations with you were never, ever boring.

Even when they were probably meant to be.

And it wasn’t long before your fear surrounding being married…faded.

Around a week later, a leak had sprung on one side of the school which meant having to bunk rooms for a while. Of course, all the kids went with their friends.

But it also meant you had to bunk with someone too.

“You can bunk with me.” Logan told you.

You nodded. “Finally sharing a room. Wow, we’re really moving generations in this relationship.”

“After you, wife.”

This became a common theme, until the weight of the words settled down on both of you once more.

A divorce lawyer had picked up your case.

It would take a couple of weeks to get all the papers sorted, but yourself and Logan would be divorced by the middle of the following month.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Except, it just so happened, that was when something did happen.

Scott and Storms’s words had been playing on Logan’s mind and yours. Not helped by the fact it wasn’t the last time someone held that kind of conversation with either of you.

You found yourself in a similar conversation with Scott, whilst Logan had a similar conversation with Jean.

And then the Professor approached you both, without the other one knowing.

Except he hadn’t been to sit down and talk to you about it. He just made small comments in passing that left you both questioning more and more about your true feelings.

And then Logan found you in the library one night.

“Here you are. You didn’t come to bed so…what are you doing?”

Standing close to the top of the book ladder, you were scanning through different books with a flashlight.

“The main light is too big and the fire’s light doesn’t reach this far back.”

Logan blinked. “That…still didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ve got a new semester of lessons set out. I wanted to get a head start on finding the books needed.”

Logan looked around. “You got a list?”

You looked at him. “Logan, it’s past midnight. Go to bed.”

“That’s not what I asked. Where’s your list? I know you’ve got one.”

Sighing, you reached into your back pocket and held it out. He walked over and plucked it from your fingers.

“There’s twenty six books on this list.”

“And I currently have three. If you still want to help, any that you find, just place them on the table behind the sofa.”

And so he did.

By two in the morning, you’d both found twenty three books in total. Just three more left.

“Is this the right edition?”

“Let me see.”

Logan walked over to where you were still standing on the ladder and handed it up to you. You flipped through a couple of the first pages as you slowly climbed backwards down the stairs.

“Yeah, this is the right one. The last two should be on a lower shelf.”

As you finally reached the last few steps, you felt your foot slip and your knees crashed against the bars. Except, instead of falling backwards, or rolling with the ladder itself, Logan’s hands steadied you.

“You alright?”

You took a second to breathe. Having your life flash before your eyes for a couple of seconds really knocks the wind out of you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed a little. “I’m fine.”

You turned in Logan’s arms and was met with his broad and solid chest as his hands held you at your waist.

“Good,” Logan laughed a little, too.

The sound of your life had always been like music to his ears.

A comfort, even when the moment hadn’t been all that comfortable beforehand.

And for that moment, time seemed to still. Any silence that had been in the room was slowly becoming defending, until your hearing focused on his breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the quickening of your own heartbeat.

The flashlight that you had held in your hands had rolled somewhere onto the floor when you slipped on the ladder.

But you had never seen Logan so…clearly.

You had known him for so long and had even spent nights and mornings in the same bed together. But for the first time, you were committing him to memory. Part of you felt like these moments would go, once the papers came through. That even if neither of you wanted it, something would inherently change between you both once the papers were signed and delivered.

But something in that moment was changing too.

Like how you were realising you never wanted to be away from him. That the best place on this earth was right where you were. In his arms, his eyes on you, and yours on him.

You found yourself leaning in forward, almost as if, if you didn’t get closer to him, he might disappear.

And he was doing the same.

One of his hands came up to your face as he rubbed a couple of strands of your hair between his fingers before he slowly pushed it back and let his gaze wash over you.

He was committing you to memory, too.

His eyes locked on yours once more, just as his other hand trailed down your waist and to your hip.

You fell closer to him.

Or maybe he pulled you closer.

Either way, you never wanted to be without his touch.

What felt like an eternity later, you finally felt his lips against yours and yours against his.

It started off slow. This was new territory for you both when it came to the other. It was slow, full of mixed feelings and…something else.

Then it snapped.

Logan pushed a little harder and you felt your legs hit the back of the book ladder just as his hand and arm snaked around and up your back, holding you flush against him as your own arms pulled him closer to you.

Logan braced the hand that had been by your face, by the side of your head, holding onto the book ladder, keeping you both steady.

And he felt your breath hitch as he stepped into you.

Before you knew it, you were braced against one of the bars on the ladder as Logan’s lips went from yours, across your jaw and down the column of your neck. A small grunt escaped him as your own fingers scratched through the back of his hair and down the back of his neck.

However, just as his lips returned to yours and his hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt– his t-shirt, as your own started reaching for the hem of his…a clock went off.

“W-w-w-w-w-wait. Wait. Stop.”

“Is everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yes…no. I don’t know. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Logan wanted to ask “Why? Why shouldn't we?”. But instead, lowered his head. He knew why.

“You’re right…you’re right.”

Your own temple came to rest against his for a few moments, neither of you wishing to leave the moment just yet.

“We should go…before someone comes in.”

“It’s two in the morning, who is going to come in?”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.”

You stayed quiet for a long time, feeling Logan’s fingers draw circles over your skin. Eventually, the only sound you heard was his heartbeat and his breath, slowly matching your own.

But no matter how much of you told you to stay, you tried your best to fight it.

You and Logan were friends. Friends who were about to get a divorce from a marriage neither of you could remember fully consenting to.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Reluctantly, you stepped out of his arms, his light grip on your hand not letting go until you were both too far apart to hold on any longer, and made your way through the school until you came across an empty room.

It was the smaller quiet space that overlooked the back of the school. Perfect for the nights when too much noise was keeping you up at night.

Except, it wasn’t noise keeping you awake.

It was your own mind, relieving the one thing you thought you would never do with Logan. The one thing you wanted most to keep going. The one thing you would never forget.

When Logan woke the next day, part of him thought it was all a dream. But even he couldn’t have dreamed up anything from the night before and have it still feel so real in the morning.

Then he didn’t see you for three days.

Save for one moment when he brought a box of your things from his room, to yours. You opened the door, wearing another one of his t-shirts. One that went missing months ago. One that he had seen on your at least a dozen times since. One that he felt he was truly seeing for the first time, on you.

The exchange, coming from the both of you together, couldn’t have felt anything more than awkward.

And then another moment hit.

You didn’t close the door.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he knew was that he wished he was back with you, in the library.

And you were wishing the same thing right back.

“I should-”

“You should-”

A small, awkward laugh came from both of you before eventually you shut the door, wishing you had enough confidence to open it back up and call after him.

Two days later, Logan hadn’t seen you at all.

And a morning meeting, with Storm going to get you from your bed, led to Logan realising why he hadn’t seen you.

“She’s not there?”

Logan turned immediately. “What?”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She’s not in her room or any other place she usually is this early in the morning.”

“Doesn’t she have classes to teach?” Scott asked.

“She doesn’t teach Wednesday and Thursday.” Logan told him.

And it wasn’t long before Logan heard his name being called behind him by Xavier as he marched his way out of the office and to every room he could think you would be.

You were nowhere to be found. It was almost like you hadn’t been there for weeks. The books you had taken out – the ones Logan had helped you find – were piled neatly in your bedroom. On your desk, you had a small wicker basket filled with letters and postcards, all arranged in date order, the newest ones being at the front.

The pictures you had on your windowsill displayed all the people you loved the most. And included a picture from when you had ambushed him on his birthday. He rarely, if ever, took a photo.

But he smiled, albeit a little awkwardly, with you.

“Where could she have gone?”

Logan looked around your room. You wouldn’t have just gotten up and left for good. You loved teaching your kids too much, despite whatever else had happened.

Then Logan saw the framed pictures on the wall, just across from your bed.

“I’ll check with Cyerbro. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“She could be half way across the world by now!”

Logan shook his head. “But she’s not.”

A lot of them were confused, but Xavier watched Logan for a moment.

“Do you know where she is?”

“I have an idea.”

With that, Logan reached for the wall and pulled down one of the smaller frames and carried it out with him.

“Hold on, I’m coming with you.” Storm called out to him.

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Logan, you look like you’re just about ready to punch a bull. I know, right now, even if you are the last person she wants to see, you are the first person she needs. But that also means I know what you’re going to do and, love you or not, Y/n wouldn’t want you to hurt someone or even yourself to find her.”

And Storm was right.

And she was right to tag along.

Because just five hours later, Logan had pulled up outside a local pharmacy. They had received a call on the way; they were heading in the right direction, but they needed to go into the town first. Any chance of finding where she was in the mountains lay where she had been all day.

And it wasn’t long before Storm had to step in to stop Logan from almost killing the cashier.

He had been dancing around the question, leading them all on different tangents of conversation about the town and the people in it before finally he got to his answer.

The cashier nodded. “I don’t know where she lives, but Connie might. She knows everything in the town.”

“Where is Connie?”

The cashier pointed out of the door. “In the bakery, across the street.”

“Thank you,” Logan told him, swiping the picture back up from the counter and walking outside. Storm stopped short behind Logan when she saw he wasn’t moving off the sidewalk.

Then she saw.

You had just left the building and climbed inside your beaten up, old Jeep Wrangler. You pulled out of your parking spot and drove off down the street.

And Logan followed.

However, halfway up the road, he started to recognise the place. He’d been here before, except he was going up the way he would come down and out of the cabin.

So, he took a turn.

He was at your cabin ten minutes before you were. Storm had stayed behind in the town to call the others and let them know what was going on.

“You fixed her up well.”

You jumped at his voice and threw a can of pumpkin puree at his head. Though he managed to catch it before his head made a dent in the can.

“Jesus, Logan.” Then you realised. “How did you find me?”

“You forget that I know you. The pictures on your wall. They’re a lot more recent.”

You didn’t know what else to say so you turned back to your front door and pushed it open, Logan hurrying after you.

“Why did you leave?” He called out, placing the can on the side.

“I didn’t leave.” You called back as you unpacked some of your groceries.

“You disappeared into thin air but you weren’t abducted. I’d call that leaving.”

“I needed a break, Logan. I needed…time.”

“Time from what?”

“From everything. From you, from marriage, from the school, from the library. It’s like I woke up one morning and, quite literally, everything had changed. One day we were- we were teachers and friends…we were us, Logan. And then…we kissed and…I don’t know what we’re meant to do, Logan.” You dropped your head as you pressed your palms onto the kitchen counter.

“Maybe we’re meant to do nothing.” Logan walked towards you. “Maybe we keep things as they are.”

“What? Single and married?”

Logan shook his head, bringing his hand to pull yours to look at him.

“Married and together.”

Your lips parted for a moment, your eyes scanning his face, waiting for the joke to have its punchline.

“So, we did everything a little backwards?” Logan shrugged. “So what.”

“Logan…”

“I love you, y/n.” Logan told you, nothing but seriousness and truth in his eyes. “And I think you love me, too. But you’re scared. And so am I. Do you love me, y/n?”

You were trying your hardest to keep your emotions inside you, but something was failing. “Of course I do.”

“Then we start here, just you and me.”

“If something goes wrong, I can’t lose you. You mean too much to me, Logan.”

Logan smirked. “Good job I can regenerate.”

You scoffed and hit him in the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Logan nodded, a faint smile on his face. “I know. You’re not going to lose me, Y/n. You couldn’t ever.”

“Promise me.”

Logan nodded. “I promise. Can I kiss you now?”

Logan didn’t have time to finish his question before your lips met his in a searing kiss, your hands pulling him closer to you whilst his own arms wrapped around you.

Maybe you had done the whole relationship thing backwards, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Not when you finally had each other for life.

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2knightt · 6 months

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Do you think u could write abt the gang being (separately) absolutely obsessed with the reader. Like they adore everything she does, they can’t get enough of her. To the point where the rest of the gang starts releasing them abt it, meanwhile reader is like completely oblivious lol

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ heaven and hell were words to me.⋄ 𓍯

…IN WHICH! the greasers are totally obsessed!

tags/warnings: no confessions—just the gang having a crush, gang being literally whipped, them being a little odd, kinda toxic!johnny LFMAO, nothing else to my knowledge

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ i’m just working…working hard so i can please you.(shout out to ema/corvyes/loml for that ref.) but if i get a req asking me for like the gng confessing to you—i will do it. trust.

Dallas Winston

WHEN HE’S DRUNK, YOU’RE ALLLL HE TALKS ABOUT LMFAOOOO

“i’m tellin’ you—there ain’t a girl like her.”

dallas would repeat after what felt like this 5th drink of the night. buck is sick of him, two-bit regrets dragging him along, and dallas just wants to tell them how good you looked today.

when he sees you walking home, to school, or to work he WILL tag along. HE DOESN’T GAF IF YOU TELL HIM TO TAKE A HIKE!

actually, he kinda does. you’re like the only person he listens to.

LMFAOOO THE GANG THREATENS TO CALL YOU OVER WHENEVER DALLAS IS DOING SMTH STUPID

like whenever you threaten a kid ur gna tell santa.

“dallas, i’m gonna tell y/n what you did last week.”

“??if you do, i’ll beat your head in, soda.”

“YIKES..i’m gonna have to tell her that too…”

“…don’t, she’d be so mad at me😔😒.”

THE GANG TEASES DALLAS THE WORST(besides ponyboy) ABOUT YOU LFNAOAOAOAO

like they’re shoving him toward you, nudging him at even the slightest mention of you, giggling as they tell him they seen you today.

“look, it’s your girlfriend.”

“steve, shut up! she ain’t deaf!”

—

“GO SEE HER!”

“OW—i mean—hi, y/n.”

“did you…trip? or did you mean to bump into me?”

“yeah, sorry or whatever. some IDIOT back there pushed me.”

—

“guess who i saw..🥰🥰”

“who?”

“your wife…”

“can you NOT.”

despite all that, you somehow, still don’t know how he feels about you. how? we’ll never know. it’s beyond the human mind.

his friends try and hint at you that the big, bad greaser has a school girl crush on you. do you get what they’re trying to say? no. but that’s okay, you’re just a girl.

lowkey pisses dallas off but that’s okay cuz he prefers admiring from afar. DOES HOWEVER ASK YOU TO HANG OUT AND CONSIDERS THEM A DATE IN HIS HEAD TO KEEP HIM SANE LFMAO

“you wanna go see this drag race tomorrow?”

“sure! i don’t have work then. uhm, pick me up at my place!”

“alright, cool.”

‘yeah..,it’s date🥱😍’ — dallas’ brain.

Johnny Cade

‘johnny, if you even fucking stutter when you talk to her today—you’re gonna have to drink pickle juice.’

“oh, hi. i didn’t see you there, johnny. ‘m sorry.”

“o-oh—it’s alright.”

‘well, shit.”

he thinks he looks like such a fucking loser when he talks to you omfg😭😭

the gang tries to tell him he might have a shot but he thinks they’re just telling him that because he’s their friend. :(

HEAVILY admires from afar. like seriously he’s a fucking stalker

WAIT LMFOAOO HE’D BE THE TYPE OF GUY TO ACCIDENTALLY STALK YOU LIKE HE’D FOLLOW YOU PLACES FROM AFAR LMFAOAOAOOAOA

what a little freak

anyways

he accidentally lets things slip to let you know he’s better than any other guy trying to go after you. like if you had a shitty ex—he’s preaching that he’d ‘never treat you like that, he can’t imagine that a guy with a brain ever would.’

johnny does everything to keep your attention on HIM and nobody else when your friends try and talk to you when you two are out together. like you could be having a conversation with him and he’d be just pouting in the background with his arms crossed.

“y/n, look. they got that shirt you was talkin’ ‘bout. let’s go check it out. c’mon.” “oh—alright! bye, viv!😊” “yeah, bye viv.😒”

side eyes the gang whenever they bring you up in conversation

“johnny and y/n sittin’ in a tree—“

“😒🤨”

“alright.”

he tries to subtly hint that he really likes you and that you’re his type but it’s not subtle at ALL.

“y’know, if i were to have a girlfriend, i’d wish she was like you.”

—

“my type? uhm, it’d probably be someone-“ and he goes on to describe you.

Ponyboy Curtis

‘holy fuck that’s literally y/n walking towards me??!! does she know i’m here—does she even know me-wow she looks good in red. i mean—SHE’S WAVING OH MY GOD.’

HE IS SUCH A WRECK I CANTTT

ponyboy is the type to stare off into space in your direction and dream about how well he’d treat you if he was your man!!

yk how bitches be like ‘my man, my man!’ whenever they talk about their crush?? he’s all ‘my girl, my girl!’ WUAGRMRNEE

the gang was so confused on why he was so eager to go to school all of a sudden?? and why he cares about his appearance just slightly more than usual?? …is that soda’s shirt he’s wearing?-

two-bit was the first one to realize what was happening when he seen ponyboy and you talk in the halls. that wasn’t the giveaway, though.

it was the way he stared at you like you were the only girl alive and everyone else was just gone. two-bit was almost moved to tears to see ponyboy all grown😞😞!!!

“is tha’ your girlfriend? that why you couldn’t wait ‘til monday?”

“shut up!”

“ouuu, wait until the gang hears ‘bout this!”

“YOU AIN’T TELLIN’ ‘EM NOTHIN’!”

ever since — it has been hell on earth for ponyboy. dallas brings you up every time ponyboy gets smart, johnny giggles at every kissing scene at a movie nudges him, soda and darry had to give him ‘the talk,’ (soda just made it worse by making snide remarks.) and steve never stopped poking fun at him.

two-bit tried to get you to spill the beans on how you felt about him, but all you’d do was huff and ignore him. FINE THEN😒!—is what he always thought.

soda, johnny and two-bit all let ponyboy rant about you.

“LIKE, BRO. my girl, my girl! she’s so cute and smart. LIKE SHE’S TOTALLY MY DREAM.”

—

“that’s so cute ☹️” - soda

“SHE WANTS YOU SOO BAD” - two-bit

“just go tell her, man.” - johnny

does everything to impress you stoppp 😭😭!! pony is trying harder in school, using less hair grease, wearing darry’s cheap cologne when he’s not looking, etc.

HE’S SO SILLY I LOVE HIM!!!

Sodapop Curtis

delusional king!!! yes soda, let the voices in your head tell you that she wants you so bad!!🫶🫶

swear to goddd he thinks y’all are meant to be. you tipped him when he was working at the cash register and he was sooo in love

sorry in my head he’s a hopeless romantic

cause a) you were gorgeous, b) kind enough to tip him, and c) most likely rich💯💯

when he seen you at random places with your friends—soda would get so excited LMFAOOO

STOP HE’D HOUND PONY FOR YOUR NAME

“bro they probably go to your school—just lemme look at your yearbook!”

“no??? you weirdo???”

“please??!! i’ll do the dishes or something!”

“….get me a pack of cigarettes and i’ll tell you.”

“OKAY🥰🥰”

stole them but pony never said how to get them so who gaf!!!

SODA WOULD TOTALLY WRITE YOUR FIRST INITAL + HIS LMFAOOAOAOAOAA

or he’d see who’s last name went best with curtis or your last name!!!1!1!1

he’s crazy insane over you did i say that already

whenever you come by the dx—he’d give you shit for free while you insist to pay.

“jus’ take it.”

“i can’t—i’d feel terrible.”

“it’s alright, no one has to know. right?”

he’d flash his million dollar smile, pushing your coke and chips close to you, inciting you to just take the food.

WAJENEDKD he wants u so bad it’s. so terrible.

steve hates his rambles

“YOU SHOULDA SEEN THE WAY ME AND HER WAS TALKING—SHE’S SO INTO MEEEE”

“yeah, she wants you!!! shut up now!!”

Darry Curtis

nobody knows. it’s like a top secret only darry knows. the gang has their suspicions but they can never really know why darry is suddenly so adamant on going to go get him, soda, and pony’s hair done at the salon.

they alllll can see that he only really talks to you—but at the same time he does that weird ass dad stance where they stand with their arms crossed and legs far apart LMFAOOOOO

darry thinks you’re like…model fine btw.!!!!!

BROOO WHEN YOU LIKE UNCONSCIOUSLY MASSAGE HIS HEAD WHEN YOURE CUTTING IT—HE’S SOO READY TO JUST ASK YOU OUT

darry doesn’t know what it is but goddamn!! you have him in a spell!!

“c’mon—we gotta go to the salon again.”

“….we just went?”

“TWO WEEKS AGO. it’s about time we go AGAIN.”

does in fact work a little extra just so he can see you. he’s that much of a loverboy i fear.

HE DOES ACTUALLY NOT WAIT TO ASK YOU OUT

like, among all the gang, he’s the only one mature enough to actually flirt with you properly & to ask if you’re single.

darry’s fucking down like that.

AWWHHH HE TOTALLY BUYS YOU FLOWERS AS A ‘THANK YOU’ GIFT LOL

flexs his strength around you to prove he’s worthy !!! DARRY LOVEEESSS SHOWING OFF WHEN YOU’RE LOOKING

megara + hercules methink…..

you two probably started hanging out as ‘friends.’ …yeah right!!!!

he’s driving you around as you be his pretty little passenger princess, he’s offering to buy you things when you two are out, etc, etc.

darry might not know how to show that he likes you, but trust me, the second that you look a little too far into his actions—it gets obvious.

like maybe too obvious idk.

Steve Randle

HELLLOOOO??? HE IS TOTALLY SHOWING OFF HIS GYMNASTICS MOVES AROUND YOU

“bro, bro! (yes he’d call you bro. idgaf.) watch what i can do!!😊😊” “wowwww, steve that’s so cool.”

geeks out near you. when you aren’t around the average person would see him and go ‘jesus christ, he literally might beat my ass.’ but when you’re around, they might think, ‘why is that scary looking guy talking about cars and comic books rn??’

you bring out the nerd in him in the best way possible🫶😊 BECAUSE THAT MEANS HE LIKE LIKES YOUUUUUUU

and it’s so obvious to the gang bc wdym steve told you all about DC comics while all they got was a ‘yeah, it’s alright.’ …hm…..

soda NEVER shuts the fuck up and him and his little girlfriend. NEVERRREE

“why’re you so pouty today? y/n ain’t say hi?”

“bro, shut up!”

steals for you and gives them to you all proud like he paid for it LMFAO

tries to be sooo cool around you but the second you bring up the latest batman comic he’s all “OMGOMGOMGOMG IT WAS SOO GOOD!! DID YOU SEE THE-“ he’s a loser what can i say.

dallas totally flirts with you in front of steve just to piss him off LOLLL like when he sees dallas twirling your hair around his finger steve is just all “???🤨🤨😡😡”

and then becomes your knight in shining armour and swoops you away as he glares daggers at dally!!!!<3

Two-bit Mathews

he becomes the funniest man on the planet i’m not joking

he says jokes that anybody and everybody will laugh at. just because he wants to see you laugh at what he says for his delusions

two-bit thinks like ‘she laugh=she likes me’

he’s not the brightest but it’s okay

HE MAKES IT SOOO KNOWN THAT HE LIKES YOU LFMAOOOOOO

“you’re lookin’ pretty? who’s the fella?” / “gee, i didn’t believe when they said they seen an angel walkin’ around until now.” / “well, now you owe me dinner.”

shit like that

two thinks he’s soooo smooth…smh.

DALLAS AND PONYBOY SO BADLY WANTS HIM SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY ABOUT YOU LMFAOOO

they keep on telling him just to confess already but then two gets all giggly and shy and goes “omg guys noooo🤭🤭🤭🫣🫣”

just coincidentally runs into you everywhere you go!!! (literally has eyes everywhere. he’s weird. he’s odd.)

follows you around like a lost puppy and lowkey kinda gossips. idk.

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #steve randle x reader #darry curtis x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

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hazbinhotelxreader · 6 months

Text

Lucifer x GN adopted child reader

A/n: still have writers block. Trying to move and do school! Sorry it’s taking long! But I’m also going through some stress and emotions too and couldn’t write- but to heal me, I have made some Lucifer parent headcannons because he is the father I never had😔😔

-Platonic

-He adopted you out of depression, and being lonely. Not seeing his daughter for so long, and his wife(wives) really broke his heart. And since he can’t have children due to his lack of woman, he decided to adopt! Where you come in!

-When he saw your adorable little face in one of the foster home rooms, he knew you were perfect. You were young, not old enough to know who he was since Lucifer/Satan wasn’t out in public all the time, or at all. So while the other kids that were older cowered in fear, you were curious and un afraid, something that Lucifer loved about you.

-He can cook. Good. Expect him to make you home cooked meals all the time, so homemade dinosaur nuggets, aren’t you lucky? He’ll also help you learn how to cook, family bonding time! He has so many pictures of you two cooking together. He doesn’t mind the mess, he’s literally Satan, just a snap of his fingers and everything is clean!

-He definitely gives you rubber ducks as gifts almost everyday. He’ll make you personal ducks for you, a character, friend, yourself, anything! Of course, he’d never test any of the rubber ducks with abilities on you. He’ll give you those once he’s 100% sure they’re safe. Expect him to get or make you duck costumes or clothes. He’ll order some matching duck pajamas for the two of you to wear on movie nights, both of you watched DreamWorks “migration” so many times, but it’s your favorite movie, you both watch it together at least once a week.

-he’s not big on punishments. The farthest he’ll go is put you in time out. He has a stool for you in the corner of his office(with duck prints of course) and makes you sit there until you learned your lesson. He’s never hit you, or punish you physically, nor would he hurt you mentally, he loves you to much to do that.

-He would help you accomplish your dreams. He wasn’t able to accomplish his, but he can help you. He wants you to be free, to be as curious as you want, to let you learn. He wants you to be happy. He’ll give you everything he didn’t get. and, he’ll make sure you are on the right path to your life, and that you have everything you need to accomplish your goals and dreams. He’ll do make sure every obstacle is solved for you, but will also let you try to get through it on your own.

-He will never let heaven know you exist. He doesn’t want you to be targeted but them, especially exorcists. If your a sinner child, he’ll protect you with his life in his castles he’ll put you in a hidden room with him, and to keep you entertained he’ll play with toys with you, watch tv, sing to you, or just talk and tell you his past dreams. If your hellborn, then he’ll be less panicked about the extermination. But he wouldn’t let you outside, or near any of the doors and windows during that time.

-Lucifer would be very nervous to tell Charlie about you. He doesn’t want her to think he replaced her l, he just needs someone to take care of and protect that wouldn’t leave him. The day you met Charlie was the day Charlie had called him over to talk to him about getting them into heaven. And he thought it would be a “great” time to meet your older sister.

-You were Nervous, but more excited than your father. When Charlie saw you, she was overjoyed and knelt down on say hi, she was so kind and sweet to you. You were a little kid! She couldn’t be mean (if she was). She asked her father who you were and when she found out you were her adopted sister, she was both excited and heartbroken. She was upset. Not at you, her father. He was just starting another family being her back…? She would have loved to help raise you, play with you. But she can’t change the past, so she might as well make the most of your appearance now.

-After meeting Charlie, Lucifer brought you to her hotel more often after they felt with all the extermination stuff and rebuilt it. He’d leave you with Charlie for a weekend every now and then so you two could bond. You two have sleep overs all the time. Plus Vaggie. Vaggie likes getting involved, she wants to get to know you more and have someone from Charlie’s family like her more. You three have little “girls days” together, even jf alastor joins from time to time

-Speaking of Alastor, neither Charlie and Lucifer let you go near him alone. He’s too dangerous. Charlie will let you go near him, speak to him and play with him only if she is with you. Lucifer will not let you go near him at all. He tried to talk Charlie out of letting you see him, but Charlie doesn’t want to start any tension. Lucifer fears you may be taken away from him or hurt by Alastor. Charlie clearly likes Alastor more than him, and Lucifer doesn’t want it to happen again, so your interactions around Alastor are very limited here Lucifer is around.

-But he is a pretty great father otherwise. He wants to treat you right, and be there for you even if he couldn’t be there for Charlie.

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grimesgirll · 3 months

Note

heyy could you write Negan smut, with them both fighting for dominance while they fuck, taunting each other; Maybe because they known each other before the apocalypse so she isn’t as intimidated by Negan like the rest.

you have to be the hottest thing he’s seen in quite sometime.

negan, simon, and dwight had heard the gunshots from your shotgun and stumbled upon you; all alone, fending off a few dozen walkers.

simon had insisted that they leave and not risk their safety for “some broad”, and negan was on board until he realized that wasn’t just any broad - it was you.

the three cut through the horde of walkers at negan's insistence. braving bloated corpses and trudging over the trampled isn't a simple feat - even with guns. minutes pass until you're finally face to face. half dazed, you did a double take once your eyes suddenly met the disgraced gym teacher's.

then you hit the ground.

when you woke up, mr. smith was there. you were shocked to see him and even more surprised to learn that he was the leader of an up and coming survival group.

“what about your wife?” you’d asked. “mrs. smith is really cool.”

made slightly dramatic by age, the pained twist of the former faculty's face has you regretting your question.

mrs. smith was really cool.

mr. smith had once been too. kind as well. negan is looks cool, and you can't deny that there's a cult of personality that can't be beat with him. not kind though.

no, you'd learned your first week that the gym teacher who had once teased you about college partying on the playground was now a certified psychopath. as a teaching assistant and faculty shadow at the school, you'd befriended negan easily. the two of you pulled off witty banter as you dropped the kids off for gym, even accepting invitations to join the day's activity.

mr. smith was no more and negan's now burning faces off. you'd seen that. just like you'd seen the floggings, the beatings, the spankings, and even the wall. waking up one day to see the nurse you'd grown fond of outside wandering as a walker was enough for you to tweak.

“what did she do?”

negan looks up from a map of northern virginia to grin at you. “hey, doll! what’s goin’ on?” he kicks his feet up on the desk. “don’t see much of you around here.”

“yeah, because i can barely get by your goons.”

he shrugs. “seems like you got up here just fine.”

you’d sideskirted fat joey when he left his post to top off his dr. pepper. it was easy enough to walk your way to negan’s office to confront him.

“why is the woman who trained me walking around the front yard as a zombie?” you question, not breaking eye contact with the smirking leader. “what could she have done to deserve that?” you let out an exasperated breath, reigning it in with another deep umhals before asking, “don’t you think that’s fucking extreme?”

if negan softens, you really can’t tell. all that comes from the man is a laugh. “you mean the nurse who was planning on robbin’ us all blind and hightailing it with nearly all of our narcotics?”

you don’t even have the care to gawk at him. “could she not have been rehabilitated?”

he scoffs at you. “once an addict, always an addict.”

a sudden wave of dread comes over you, and for a moment you think it may be your lunch coming back up but one look at your former fellow faculty member and you know it’s purely disgust.

“she was my friend!”

“you’ll make more!”

“she was my only friend here,” the words croak out of your mouth.

negan just chews on his lip and shrugs. “sorry, honey, you’ll just have to start bein’ friendlier then.” a smirk spreads across his leather-like, aged face. “might have to drop the whole resting bitch face.”

you’re fuming. the column of rage growing from your belly pangs with no place to go. “for you freaks?”

your outburst has fat joey huffing and puffing his way through the threshold of the door.

“everything, okay, boss?” the grunt looks from your red face to his relaxed leader. “sorry bout’ her. she shouldn’t be up here.”

negan waves a hand. “don’t worry about it, joey. i can handle her.”

joey nods when a “handle me?” is flying from your mouth and negan just shoots him a cheeky grin.

“let me walk you back down there, doll.” negan insists.

when he rises from his desk, you realize how he towers over you, something you’d never clocked despite how often you two had been in close quarters back at school. you’re glaring up to meet his dark eyes - the ones that glint in the light like he hadn’t subjected a young woman to the most gruesome death - not including her life after death.

“this way, you,” negan is shepherding you with a hand on your back and all you can do is grumble as you pass his lazy goon.

once the two of you are in the hallway, you slap his hand off of him. “don’t touch me,” you sneer.

he chuckles. “whatever you wish, princess, just stop interrupting me from my important shit with your emotional shit, ‘kay?”

you shake your head. “what would mrs. smith think of all this? surely you don’t think you’re in the right. your wife would’ve hated this.”

negan gestures to the empty, desolate stairwell the two of you are descending. “she look like she’s here?”

“doesn’t matter. what happened to your morals?” you spit, stopping in your tracks to turn and face the taller man, standing on a higher step so that you’re both at eye level. “you were a school teacher.”

“yeah, and you would’ve been dead if we hadn’t brought you in.”

“so i should be happy with the freak show you’re putting on here?”

the expressive leader throws his arms out to motion to the compound. “look around, it’s bread and circuses!” he says simply. “you work, you get a bed, and a safe place to live.” a devious expression overtakes his countenance. “and a show!”

“i hate it here.” you declare nastily.

he snorts. “you hate not being in control, and all the safe little assurances we had before. things are different now.”

“no,” you counter, face coming closer to his. “you’re different now.”

“gotta be to survive nowadays, darlin’, now hurry it up. you need to get back to stitchin’ up my men so they can go out and bring you back ravioli, morphine, soap, toilet paper, all that shit you’re bitchin’ about having.”

“you’re a psycho,” you huff at him as he ushers you down the stairs, another level, and the familiar way towards the infirmary.

“you’re just not adjusted yet. just stick to changing bedpans and we won’t have a problem,” negan instructs with a hand on your back again.

you brush him off once you two have entered the sterile, white infirmary where doctor carson is talking quietly with one of negan’s goons.

“what’s goin’ on here, doc?” negan questions, startling the two.

negan’s man is pale - and sweating buckets. the doctor stands from his bedside to face negan.

“hello, negan, we were just finishing up.”

“finishing up what?”

the pit in your stomach grows when you notice the sickly man on the bed scurrying to fold the fabric of his shirt back over his stomach. the doctor has a pokerface but you didn’t need them to answer to know what was going on.

“what’s goin’ on, dan? feelin’ alright?” negan doesn’t give the doctor a chance to answer before he’s next to his commissioned scavenger, towering over him now.

dan nods. “feelin’ fine. just scraped up and tired as hell after gettin’ back from carolina.”

“i bet!” that loud voice booms throughout the room. “mighty long trip that was. thanks again, man.” the clap to dan’s back from his leader almost has him buckling. “but you don’t look so good, bud. got something to tell me?”

“negan-,” the doctor starts but he’s quickly silenced by a simple raise of the leader’s hand.

“nope, doc. i wanna hear it from dan here.”

the man’s nervous eyes flicker from doctor carson and to you. you want to crumple where you stand. though his eyes are pleading, there’s nothing you can do. only manage your growing disgust as you watch negan reach for his sidearm.

then negan does something that surprises you, he leans down to embrace the man in a hug.

“thank you, it was just a long trip.” dan’s bumbling, but negan shushes him.

“don’t worry bout’ it, dan.”

that’s when the bullet departs the chamber and implants itself in dan’s brain.

the man who’d just been alive slumps down and falls onto the newly bloodied bedsheets. the white wall behind him is sprayed with brains and chrome. the salt and pepper haired leader stands from the bed and yawns, stretching as if he wasn’t leaving a mess of blood and trauma for you and the doctor to clean up and process.

“back to work. keep an eye on her, doc.”

“negan, you sick fuck.”

this time, negan’s holding his council and heatedly harping on gregory.

the man lets out an exasperated breath. “who the fuck wasn’t watching the door?”

his legion of doom is bewildered to see the sullen nurse standing in the doorway. dwight’s apathetic as always, but is the first to offer to escort you out while simon’s telling gregory to “shut the fuck up” and laura’s looking at you as if no one could be more annoying as to drag this meeting on.

“joey!”

one shout and you hear heavy footsteps thudding down the hall. breathing raggedly, the guard wraps himself around the doorway and drops his sandwich at the sight of you.

“so sorry, boss. she really sneaks in!”

the older man just shakes his head. “don’t let it happen again or gregory gets it.”

laughter erupts from the room. everyone at the table is dropping their dauntless demeanor as if on cue. the only one not laughing is gregory of course.

“negan, listen-,”

“ah!” negan interrupts him, straining against his leather jacket when he turns his body towards him. “you shut it! i hate having my shit interrupted, and i hate having supply drops interrupted far more than meetings.” he directs his attention from the man from hilltop back to you. “why don’t you just take a seat, honey? we’ll be done soon.”

you shake your head. “i’m not trying to stay here any longer than i have to. i need this sorted out now.”

“if you wanna talk, doll, you’ll have to wait your turn. i’m talking to gregory right now.”

“i don’t even want to talk to you.”

he exhales flippantly. “then why are you here? interrupting my important meeting.”

“i came for my shotgun.”

negan chuckles, crossing his arms. “you think you’re gettin’ that thing back? after the mood you’ve been stirring up here?”

you do your best to ignore the way he’s laughing and dismissing you or how he’s manspreading all over the chair he’s parked in.

“i need my stuff now. i’m leaving tonight.”

it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room. you can see negan’s jaw tighten in real time, and the room stiffens. waiting for a reaction is half the angst but you don’t have time for it. don’t even want to defend your decision, especially in front of everyone here.

“out!”

chair legs scrape against the ground as some of negan’s senior partners in psychopathy begin to egress.

gregory is just looking flabbergasted. “but we had a meeting?”

“everyone, out. now!”

all it takes is a “negan doesn’t like to repeat himself” and dwight is shuffling gregory out of the room, simon taking up the rear.

“see you soon, hun’,” he taunts to you.

you don’t have enough time to process his words because he’s shutting the door behind you and probably mentally rescheduling this meeting. you could care less.

“enough, negan smith.” he blinks at the full name callout. “i want my stuff and i’ll be out of your hair. you won’t have to worry about me.”

negan’s off his feet again and sitting on top of the table now. he points to the chair next to the head. “sit.”

“i don’t want to sit.” you insist. “i already told you, i don’t want to talk, i want to go.”

“yeah, well we’re gonna talk first, so sit your ass down.”

you don’t want to spend anymore time in this nutjob factory than you have to but you want your shotgun back. so you walk across the room and you stand at the chair.

“what do you have to say to me?” you inquire.

“god, look at you!”

you roll your eyes.

“a few weeks after getting your life saved, getting your needs taken care of and you’re ready to go back to that?”

“i don’t want to be at your constant mercy.” you say plainly. “not that you can really call it mercy.”

with every retort from him being a laugh, your patience is growing thin. he snickers upon seeing your frown. “so, you want to take your chances out there instead of taking a little time to let me help figure out your problem?”

you throw up your hands. “figure out my problem? i came to you to help figure out my problem and you said to just deal with it. to ‘adjust’. well, i can’t. i can’t live like this. it’s not humane.”

“yeah, and it’s humane out there?”

“better than bitching in here.”

“well, i think i can help with that. won’t be getting your shotgun back.”

“oh, so you can’t help at all?” you snap.

he whistles. “never said that.” his eyes drop from your gaze down your torso to your thighs. he pats the table next to him. “come sit on the table.”

“no. i want to go. now.”

“alright then.”

“negan!”

you exclaim when he scootches off the table to scoop you up by your legs and middle and plop you down.

“let doctor negan see if he can help.”

“what are you-,”

“ah! look at that.”

“ah!”

the sudden sensation of a finger against your denim covered cunt has your face flushing and red. “been touched there in a while, honey?”

“just give me my shotgun,” you breathe, desperately trying with your eye contact to communicate that things aren’t going the way you expected.

“let me give you some reprieve, clear your head, and then we can see if you still want your shotgun.”

you shake your head as he starts pulling down your pants. “you think your wife would be okay with this?”

“she here?”

you curse yourself for giving him such an easy answer. you curse yourself for not doing anything other than pouting and wiggling once he’s at your waistband. you curse the little wet spot soaked though your underwear even more.

“god, i knew confrontation would get you wet.”

“so you planned this?”

the older man shakes his head, taking another moment to fully lock eyes with you, even as he towers over you on the table. “no, i’m thinking that we both walked into this.”

maybe you shouldn’t have walked in, you ponder as negan walks your undies down your thighs with his fingers and walks them right back to your dripping center. the hair you have down there is already slick, a damp curtain pried open by negan’s thick fingers.

“shit,” you rasp when a finger braves the pool of anticipation that’s only growing and delves further against your inner walls.

“want me stop there?” the fucker’s finger stills inside of you and the other dancing just above your clit comes to a halt.

you don’t respond, just lock eyes with negan and try to catch your breath. “that’s not fair,” you point out in a voice just above a whisper. “can’t stop now.”

“or can i?”

you shake your head. “don’t.”

maybe clearing the tension that’s been building like a twentieth century skyscraper inside of you will sort you out. or you could just say fuck it. the world’s ended anyways.

negan surely fucks a finger stationed inside of you back and forth. twisting and testing the waters before adding another. the extra finger curls inside you deliciously while he utilizes another to play around your clit.

the attention he’s paying to your once undisturbed nether regions is enough to have you creaking and moaning like an old door hinge and hinging forward into negan. he’s quick to let you fall forward into his arms. the sudden acceptance is all he needs to speed up.

“i know that feels good, honey.”

“mhmm,” you murmur into his shoulder.

there’s a spot inside of you that he’s massaging just right and another on your exterior; an x doesn’t need to mark the spot for him to rile up your clit. slow, lazy circles have you grinding against him on the table. how can you bemoan him when he’s about to pull the perfect release from you?

you know that because your breath is picking up again and you’re blubbering into his sturdy shoulder. those motions are telltale. mrs. smith’s memory hasn’t kept this man celibate.

the widower has his hand on your back again and the hand beneath you has its own task. the task at hand is executed with more skill than any boy you’d ever fooled around with in college or anyone who came after - not that there were many given how things had gone. you’d like to think that if shit hadn’t hit the fan, you would’ve settled down with someone like mr. smith but younger. this would have to do.

“clenchin’ so tight just around my fingers, baby. you always had the hots for me?”

you shake your head no truthfully. “this is the hots?”

“you feel hot down there baby, and my are you hot.” he lands the compliment with a kiss. you lean in, letting his tongue slip into your mouth because you’re too occupied with the build up brewing inside of you.

one glance down between you two and you see his fingers pumping. your heart rate jumps when you see the addition of another and now you’re being stretched out on his fingers on this table.

“god, you’re gorgeous. what a sweet little thing to have fallen into my lap.”

you curl further into his lap, legs now around him and his fingers knuckle deep inside of you. all he has to do is curl his fingers and you’re yowling. “mhm, they’re deep.” you say, brain just observing.

“too deep?”

“no.”

thus, they plunge further. until the extra finger on the outside is stirring up more than your slick and heat courses through you. you shudder against negan but that doesn’t stop his routine. the shape of his fingers change inside of you and you’re bucking against him to feel each one.

“fuck, i’m gonna come,” you don’t want to say it out loud but you do anyways.

“on my fingers?” negan sniggers. “you poor thing. c’mon now, i know it must’ve been a while.” he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit. “just let go, honey, it’ll help.”

and it does.

letting your lizard brain take the lead is all you need for your mind to go blank. if even for a second, it releases the anxiety and the anger that’d consumed you. you pulse and clamp down around his digits until suddenly he’s not moving at all but you’re rotating your hips against him.

riding out such a feeling, you blink the tears out of your eyes and do a double take once you notice negan removing his fingers and starting on his belt.

“what’re you doing?” you question, pussy still pulsing with a mind of its own.

“if you thought that helped you relax, this will put you to sleep. no more sleeping pills for you, darlin’.”

“how did you know about that?”

“doctor carson doesn’t keep secrets from me. he didn’t need to tell me you weren’t adjusting well either.” negan states matter-of-factly, then dropping his blue plaid boxers.

you’re not sure how you’re going to adjust to the sight you’re met with. the cock in front of you is larger than any you’ve ever seen before. if negan’s fingers had you losing it, this thing will ruin you.

“i don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you admit when his hands land on your hips.

the distance between your needy bare entrance and his thick dick is only inches now. you shudder at the longing that’s whipping you and your thoughts around. you moan when he slides his hard, veiny cock against your entrance, slapping it against you once for good measure.

“nope, you’re tougher than you think.”

you meet his eyes again as if to question him. sure, he feels good against you but this is next level. better than fiction but what would happen after you both got your orgasms out of the way?

there’s no time for you to speculate because his lips are on yours again and you feel him lining himself up against you. “you want me to fuck all those fears out of your head, honey? you wanna feel good?”

how can you say no to that?

one nod of your head and his tip is teasing you. it takes you telling him, “please, put it in. i want it,” and then he’s plunging inside.

your face scrunches as a little burn becomes prominent from his size, but he kisses the lines away from your face. your temple, your nose, your lips, your cheek, he’s kissing you, saying, “good girl. you’re doing fantastic.”

you just eat up the praise and look down to see your pussy devouring him whole. the first two or three inches were a struggle just from lack of use but your lack of pleasure - the near sexual deprivation you’d experienced since shit hit the fan - overcomes it, and is pleasantly fulfilled.

in and out of you, negan works his hips and you can’t be happier. could a man you’d branded a psycho just minutes before be so adept at addressing your pleasure?

seems like it.

“god, you fuck well for a gym teacher.”

negan won’t let the snide comment slide so he wraps up his tour of purple rain against your collarbone to simper at you. “yeah, and for a frigid bitch, this pussy is hot and ready.”

“maybe i’m one of those dumb girls who’s attracted to psychos and serial killers?” you ponder playfully and wrap your arms negan’s neck to pull him in closer.

“oh, i’m gonna fuck you dumb, honey, don’t worry.” and with a roll of his hips, you have no reason to worry he won’t live up to his words.

you whine when he suddenly rams into you. his girth juts along your tight, inner walls. you meet his gaze again and just looking at his smug face has you tightening around him.

“god, baby, did you just fuckin’ squeeze me?”

“can you adjust?”

he grunts. “can you?”

you don’t have time to ask what you could possibly have to adapt to next because negan’s turning you into your stomach onto the table, tossing his leather jacket down for you to bury your face into. his absence from between your thighs brings on another whine but one moment of motion and now you feel him flush against your back, filling you to the brink with his cock.

“yeah, bet that brain can’t even think about an escape plan with that dumb little pussy stuffed so full. you gonna’ be able to walk tomorrow, honey?” he asks you tenderly as if he’s not on the verge of taking out your cervix.

“ne-negan! sto-,”

“-stop what?” he gyrates his hips nice and slow into you, dragging on the sensitive insides of your poor, overstimulated little cunt. “stop fucking you? because the way your pussy is clampin’ down, i don’t even know how i’m backing out of here baby.”

“don’t!” you beg.

“what?” he leans down to take your chin in his hands and see the angsty, pleasure induced tear starting to roll down your cheek. “god, you even look pretty when you cry. fuckin’ face like that.”

hips are stammering and negan’s words burn straight through to your core. he moans like a motherfucker when he feels the squeeze of your clingy little core on him. haywire all of this had gone, and now your climax is taking you over the edge.

“negan, don’t stop. don’t stop. don’t be an asshole,” you’re pleading.

he’s back to spearing you on his cock, leveraging your hips and throwing his head back. “don’t think i could, baby. not with a pussy this fucking fantastic.”

the praise is what does you in for the second time. any thought of undead nurses or public floggings leaves your brain and all you’re left with is the molten hot pleasure exploding inside of you. negan’s hand drifts down to your clit to have you absolutely crushing his cock.

“god, doll, you’re fuckin’ tight. so fuckin’ hot when you come like that. gonna have me doing a fuckin’ one and done for now.”

the huskiness of his voice and the twitch of him against your walls only eggs you on. your eyes are shut tight but you he’s all you can imagine. head on top of his jacket, you breathe in his scent, musky with a hint of the same cologne he wore back at school, and you’re creaming around him.

“fuck, doll!”

and he’s shooting his cream inside of you. the warmth fills you up and you no longer have the energy to move. any gyration of your hips has halted. a few more thrusts and he’s in the same boat. he collapses atop you for just a moment before pulling out and padding towards the table against the wall laden with napkins and refreshments that were supposed to be for the meeting.

you don’t turn your head but you can hear him grabbing some paper towels off the roll and clutching some other things.

“just gonna wipe between your legs,” he instructs and you let him.

your forehead against the table and those pretty eyes squeezed shut has negan rethinking a thing or two. suddenly he’s regretting not fucking you like the sweet thing you are. you deserved better than a table - at least his soft, king sized mattress if not a cloud.

once he finishes, he pats your back and nudges you up where he’s waiting with a water bottle - already open with the cap off. you accept with no issue and gulp the mini-sized bottle down easily.

“listen, why don’t you have dinner with the girls and i tonight? i’m not gonna give you your shotgun back just yet, but might change your mind about some things.”

#the walking dead #negan smith #negan smith smut #jeffrey dean morgan #twd smut #twd #twd imagine #twd negan #negan smith x reader #negan smith imagine #not beta read #i hope you liked this anon! kinda veered off but this had to get out of my drafts #let me know if we want a pt 2! kinda set the ending up for one #writing was lazy af but I haven’t been writing for the past two months so practice def helped #grimesgirll

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 days

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weren't we the stars in heaven? | m. murdock

a/n: hi guys. so sorry i haven't posted a full length fic about matt in a while so as a sorry here's a BEAST of a fic. i have nothing much to say about this, but i will say that i am not thrilled with the ending but oh well. enjoy! i'm gonna go take a nap but i am really proud of this so if you guys like it, let me know! warnings: oh boy. so many things. cursing, use of weed, drinking, matt is married but it's an open marriage, lots of religious imagery, sex, rough fucking, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, lowkey some mean matt smut, his kid is autistic but its not mentioned a ton, reader is hard of hearing but its only mentioned once, female reader with female anatomy, age gap, nicknames, ANGST, dirty talk, hella flirting and pining, just. it's a lot. word count: 9.2k (holy moly) summary: you develop a crush on a friend of your dad's from work. the only problem is that he's married, twice your age, and you babysit his son. pairing: dbf!matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: anything - adrianne lenker "lay on your lap when i'm crying/weren't we the stars in heaven?/weren't we the salt in the sea?/dragon in the new warm mountain/didn't you believe me?"

Spring

A week at home is too long. You think about how torturous a whole summer here will be. It’s almost enough to make you sign up to be a summer orientation leader or even a tour leader. Almost. The pay isn’t that good to stay in the dorms without AC all summer.

Of course, your mother asks you to go to church on Easter Sunday and because she did your laundry and cooked you your first home-cooked meal in months, you oblige her.

And as you’re sitting there, on your knees with your hands folded, your eyes peek open, beginning to wander around the church. It’s way too hot in this church, and you are bored out of your mind.

You realize you are the only one who is bored out of your mind. Well.. Almost.

Your gaze catches onto a man who looks just as bored as you do, only, you can’t really tell if he’s looking at you. You lean your head back and roll your eyes, trying to signal how god damn bored you are to him. He just smirks, and your heart flutters.

It almost looks like his smirk widens at that.

Your face flushes and you just put your head back down, closing your eyes as if you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to.

Eventually when the service is over, you’re still thinking about the strange man on the other side of the church as you sip church lemonade that is way too sweet—But you’ve been up for hours and this is the first thing you’ve had since you woke up.

Your parents are making pleasant conversations with various friends they know, and you smile awkwardly at friends from high school. You almost choke on your lemonade when you see the man make his way out of the church, his arm hooked to a woman’s as he taps a cane against the pavement, a young boy next to them as well.

And before you know it, the family of three is approaching your family and your ears are burning red.

Your dad happily shakes his hand and pulls him in for one of those weird man hugs that you don’t really understand, as your mother does one of those weird moves where she presses her cheek against his wives.

Your father gestures over to you and says, “This is our daughter,” And he gives them your name, “She’s home for spring break from school.”

You wave to the kid, before shaking the wife’s hand, and then his— His hand is warm. Your heart is racing and you just shake his hand, trying to ignore the soft squeeze that accompanies the shake.

“Matthew,” He introduces himself like your insides aren’t discombobulated, “Matthew Murdock.” You just look at him, blinking for a second, and your mind begins to wander. How did he know you were rolling your eyes in the church if he’s blind? And how is he so hot?

You think you might die—Your face is flushed, and you think for sure that you’ve been caught, and that his wife will see right through this little charade and knows that you have a huge crush on her husband, whom you just met. He must know what he’s doing because he just smirks at you and opens his mouth to say something, but your mom just looks at you with a look of concern.

“Honey, are you alright?” she asks, “You look warm,” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“No, I’m uh.. Well, I think I’m gonna take a quick walk, find some shade—Excuse me.” You say politely, but before you can leave the conversation, Matt smiles,

“I’ll come with you. I could use the fresh air.” He offers, and you almost say no, but your mom smiles like she’s trying to fucking kill you—

“What a wonderful idea, You can tell Mr. Murdock all about your studies.” She offers, and something in your stomach twists with embarrassment—the way she phrases it makes you sound so.. young. So, you just offer Matt your arm, and he hooks his hand onto it like it’s casual.

And so, the pair of you walk through the courtyard of the church, eventually finding a bench where the sun barely creeps through the leaves of the willow tree that hangs over it, and the pair of you sit down, silence overwhelming you.

“So, what’s your major?”

“Oh, uh—English. I’m an English major.” You say, almost ashamed at how boring you sound, “And.. what do you do?”

“I’m a Lawyer,” he smiles. Your dad is a security guard at the court you have in town, so there’s no question of how they know each other.

“Your wife seems nice,” you blurt out, wanting to say something nicer to convince him—maybe yourself, that you really truly are not jealous of a woman you just met.

“She is,” he answers politely, as if that’s.. the kindest thing he can say about her.

“What’s your son’s name?” You ask curiously.

“Lucas.” He smiles fondly now, and your heart melts at the thought that this man truly feels nothing but pure, burning affection for his son. “When do you go back to school?” He asks curiously.

“Oh, tomorrow.” You smile, “Thank god.”

Then, he catches you off guard.

“That’s the most genuine thing you’ve said since we sat down.” He smirks, “Not a fan of your hometown?”

You don’t know how to explain it, not really—When you were applying to college, your mom asked you if you wanted to apply to any local colleges. And while you’re persistent that there’s nothing wrong with community college, you were sure that you needed to get out of here, or else you think you would’ve died.

But, you owe Matt an explanation.. Well, maybe you don’t, but you think you do.

“It’s not that,” You promise, “There’s just something about being here that brings out the worst in people.” You sigh.

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and while it’s subtle, you notice the way that his thumb rubs against your skin, and you might melt right into him.

“Don’t let anyone ever shame you for leaving.” He offers gently, and you think you just about fall in love with him. Then, his head picks up as the screechy tone of his wife calling for him interrupts your conversation. He just sighs, and makes a bold move—his hand goes to your thigh and gently, just barely, rubs his fingers against the fabric of your sundress, the tips of his fingers teasing your skin. “Well, I’ll.. see you in the summer then?” he ponders.

“Uh-huh..” You say, your eyes soft with want. Then, he walks right out of your life.

Summer

As spring melted into summer, and as you finished the rest of your finals, your dad picks you up from your dorm, packing everything you hold near and dear into his truck, and then starting the drive home.

For the past month and a half, you have heard nothing about Matt or his family. Sometimes, you ask your parents, ‘How’s your job, how’s the church’, begging for any crumbs of information about Matt. And you aren’t even sure why, because in your mind, he is very happily married.

It takes about a week. You sit, day after day, summer job hunting, waiting to be doomed to minimum wage and exhausting hours. Then, your mom comes home with groceries and a smile that you know can only mean bad news.

“I found you a job!” She declares happily, as you put the milk in the fridge.

“In the dairy aisle of the grocery store?” You question, and she laughs.

“No, no, I found you a babysitting job for the summer.” She smiles. “For the Murdocks!”

You squeeze the orange in your hand so hard that your thumbnails pierce it as orange juice drips down your hands, blinking before throwing out the orange, your hand reeking of the tangerine, fingers sticky with sugar.

“I’m sorry?” You manage to squeak out.

“You’re going to be babysitting their son, Lucas. They both work from nine to five, sometimes later. You’d get paid to just hangout with the kid,” She shrugged with a soft smile.

Oh, great. You’re gonna be trapped in the man’s house, looking after his kid. Fucking amazing.

But, you really don’t even see Matt, especially not the first day. Well, really, you barely see him over the course of the first week, but you get whispers of him, and it’s almost worse. You see his graduation photos, his wedding photos, a photo of him holding Lucas in the hospital.

You see his office door cracked open, you see a mug with his name on it, you see his wedding ring on the table—

You see his wedding ring on the table?

He’s elusive. But, from the fragmented sentences you get from Lucas, he tells you how his parents aren’t quite like other couples. Your mind is caught on the fact that Matt and his wife might not be 100 percent happy together, and then you feel guilty that you want to take it as an opportunity to comfort him, in the least Godly way possible.

Matt and Lucas’ mother will be working late tonight, she tells you in the morning, there’s money for dinner on the counter, and you can just relax until they get home.

Lucas drags you all over town that day. The park, the comic bookstore, and then you spend two hours in target, trying to find anything related to Bluey or Cars 2, the only two things he wants to talk about. Your body is sore from looking after him. He’s a very nice kid, but you recognize that he’s.. different.

Nobody in your town has a diagnosis, but you can tell that Lucas is on the spectrum, and you have every intention of telling Matt to get him a diagnosis, so he has the resources he needs to succeed in school.

But, tonight, you’re tired. Very very tired.

So, after putting Lucas to bed and enjoying a slice of semi cold pizza, along with flat diet soda, you find yourself in the backyard. Lucas’ window is open, and you can see the downstairs steps from where you’re sitting, so you’ll be able to see Lucas if he needs anything.

You’re sitting in a patio swing, letting your feet rock you back and forth. Maybe it’s unprofessional of you.. but you scrounge through your bag, finding your pen and turning it on, taking a long hit. You walk to and from work, so it’s not like you won’t be able to drive yourself home.

Then, you see Matt come in, and you freeze. Fuck.

You watch as he sets his bag down, slipping his suit jacket off after. Then, he tucks his cane somewhere safe, before his fingers begin to work at folding his sleeves up to his elbows. His fingers rub his temple for a minute, obviously exhausted from a long time. Then, he takes off his glasses and your heart skips a beat.

He pauses as soon as your heartbeats and he smirks when he turns towards the backyard door. Oh fuck.

He slides the patio door open and approaches you,

“Why are you outside?” he asks, sitting next to you.

“Uh.. Just, enjoying the weather.” And he laughs like you’re the funniest person he knows as he sits down next to you, groaning as he does, and your heart can barely take it.

“You’re a horrible lair, sweetheart.” He tells you. Does he know how desperately you want him? “What are you really—” Then he pauses, his nose twitching. “Are you smoking weed?” He questions.

“No.” You say, but as you breath out, smoke blows out of your mouth as you cough a bit.

“Oh my god—”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t fire me—”

“Hand it over.” He says, hand outstretched, waiting for the pen. And not even for a second does your brain imagine denying him. It doesn’t cross your mind that maybe he doesn’t have that authority over you and you’re a grown adult.

In fact, you’re foolish if you ever thought he has no authority over you.

You hand over the pen sheepishly, but.. you’re caught way off guard when is fingers study the pen, finding the button and taking a hit for himself. You just watch him, mesmerized as he exhales through his nose.

“Sorry,” he starts, taking another hit before passing it back to you, “I’ll make it up to you.” he promises.

“It’s okay,” You giggle, a little bit from how comical it was, but a little bit from how fucking hot that was. Then, you take another hit, as he just rocks the porch swing back and forth, like he’s rocking you to sleep. The night is cool enough that the smoke barely rattles your lungs, and the intensity of summer has gone to sleep. Silence fills the air, as you just pass your pen back and forth, love in your eyes.

“Why is your wedding ring on the table?” You finally ask. You expect Matt to tense up, to scoff and tell you to mind your fucking business, but he just blows out more smoke before responding,

“My wife and I don’t have the most.. conventional of relationships.” He responds, “We’re in an open relationship.” He adds.

“Oh.” You breath out.

“Yeah. Oh. It’s more like.. She goes out and dates and fucks and I flirt occasionally, but that’s sort of a long title.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He takes a hit, “Oh.”

You don’t have anything to offer to that.

“Are you from here?” you ask, and he just smiles.

“No.” He says, and now there is true yearning in his voice. “Hell’s Kitchen, New York.” He responds.

“Do you at least like it here?” You ponder, as if his far away voice didn’t give him away.

“At first it’s fine. You try to fit in, just, make your way through, settle down. Then, you begin to hate it. You feel like if it sunk into the ground right at this very second, you’d die happy. Then, you become.. indifferent. You don’t mind the numbness of it all, you just stay perfectly complacent. Then, you wake up and are desperate to escape, like your own personal Truman show. The Matthew Show. Wouldn’t that be something to see?” He muses.

And again, you have nothing to offer but another piece of your soul, just throwing it out there,

“Would you date anyone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like, if you had someone you were really into, would you date her—Them, whoever?” You ask. “Whomever?” You ask, quieter now, mostly to yourself.

He smiles.

“If someone came along, someone say, who smoked weed, got along very well with my son, and was a horrible liar? Bonus points if she—they,” You suspect he’s making fun of you, “were an English Major?”

You tilt your head with a doe eyed smile.

“You remember I’m an English major?” He coos at you like you’re stupid,

“I remember everything about you, sweetheart.” What is wrong with him? What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you saying anything more to him?

“You know, sometimes, I remember the feeling of your fingers on my thigh when I touch myself,” And he grins like he knows he’s won.

“I bet you do,” He whispers, leaning forward so that his breath was hot against your skin, “Bad, Bad girl..” he ticks, and you can’t help but blush.

“Sorry,” You giggle out as your hand comes up to his face, just to move the pads of your fingers over his scruff.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he purrs, his hand finding your thigh again, the twitch of your legs not lost on him. “I don’t mind,” he hums. The weed you smoked is starting to kick in, and with it, your inhibitions start to slip away, your hand reaching so that you can barely touch his hair with the tips of your fingers. He takes another quick hit of your pen before taking your face in his hands, squeezing just a bit so he can lean in and blow smoke into your mouth, and as if it’s communion wine, you inhale, wanting every part of him you can have. Maybe it’s greedy, but you’ll atone for your sins later.

When he pulls away, you think you might just die and go up to heaven.

“I think..” You think so many things. You think that maybe he’s fucking with you. You think that this is a nice little dream that you’ll think back on when you’re old and wrinkly. The deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there, says—

What if he leaves his wife for you?

And you completely understand that you’ve barely kissed the man, but you never claimed that the deep dark part of you was smart, chill or even a little bit in touch with reality, only that it exists.

Besides, the deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there isn’t something you can ignore. Ignoring it is like trying to hold a beachball underwater—Eventually it’ll pop back up and hit you in the face.

“I think that maybe I should head home.” You finally answer, and maybe it’s the weed, but you see a flash of.. disappointment cross over his features. But that couldn’t be it, you’re much more pathetic than he is, he wouldn’t be so upset over you having to leave..

Would he?

But as quickly as the disappointment was there.. It was gone. Poof. As if it had never even existed.

“That’s okay,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and handing your pen back to you so you can tuck it into your bag, until the next time you need another hit. His head picks up as you glance over to door, where his wife walks in, putting her things down. He glances over to you, “Let me walk you home.” He offers.

You smile gently, standing up with him. You don’t say much as you make your way to gather your things from the front door, making pleasant conversations with his wife as he waited for you to get your shoes on. Soon enough, you’re making the quiet walk back to your house, and you’re accepting the swirling mess that is your emotions—Sure, he’s married, technically your boss, way older than you, and most definitely able to read you like a book, but there’s something about him that makes you forget all of that.

Maybe it’s just the general look of him—the salt and pepper hair, the stubble that’s just a bit too long, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, the way his hands have just a few wrinkles and are covered in scars (from what, you do not know), the feeling of his hand on your thigh or the way his pink lips blew smoke into yours, the way his pants hug the curve of his ass, or maybe, you pathetic college student, maybe it’s the shine of his shoes, professional but just begging you to ride them.

Jesus, you’re too high for this.

But you’re almost certain that what did you in, the roots of your delusion, is the way he squeezed your hand the first time you met. You think, with the upmost affection, that your handshake was the most intimate two strangers could get on a Sunday in the blazing sun, the hypnotic daze of the light shining through the stained-glass windows of the church finally wearing off.

You want to tell him as much, to tell him that you haven’t gone a day without thinking about him since that day, that no amount of college students who ask you out for coffee have been able to drown out the sound of his voice in the back of your head, that the deepest, darkest, most insignificant part of you thinks that he might leave his wife for you.

But the walk home is silent.

You say nothing, but you listen to his breathing, calm, steady. You’re envious. Sure, he’s blind, but there is quite literally no part of you that doesn’t betray you, that doesn’t give you away.

He stops at the end of your driveway, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to speak. You can tell he has something to say, by the way he inhales, lips just barely parted. Sure, you’ve been an English major for years, but you’ve quickly picked up a minor in Matt Murdock studies.

“If I made you uncomfortable tonight, I’m sorry.” He starts, and your brows furrow in confusion.

“I’m—You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise. If anything, even though you were the one who said it was time to go, there’s a twinge of disappointment in your throat.

“Still—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or anything..” He starts, “Just.. Have a goodnight.” He smiles gently, his hand slowly, all too slowly, sliding off your arm as he steps away, but in a moment of, possibly THC induced, boldness, you grab his hand as he stands, arm outstretched to you. His sightless eyes hold onto you.

“You aren’t even gonna kiss me goodnight?” You ask, your voice vulnerably hopeful.

His lips twitch up in a smirk, pausing for a second, his head tilted in the most curious way. Like he’s waiting for the perfect moment. Then, he pulls your hand towards him so now you’re the one with the extended arm, like the two of you are dancing, pulling each other back and forth with an intensity birthed from desperation.

He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, something straight out of a fairytale. But just as quickly, he gently drops your hand, his eyes blazing with affection.

“We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.” You confirm with a soft smile, not wanting to dwell on any uncertainty that’s between the two of you. To accept that there is any uncertainty at all would be to accept the chance that this is as far as you two will get—lingering crushes and the ghost of a pair of lips on your hand.

He waits until you get back into your house, then walks down the sidewalk back towards his house, putting the idea of you in the trunk that sits in his armoire, only in the back of his mind, next to his old suit, his old friends, and his old life.

On Monday, you get to the Murdock’s house after Matt and his wife have gone to work, but before Lucas has woken up.

On the counter, a tiny envelope sits, your name typed onto the envelope. You tear it open, finding a freshly bought cartridge for your pen. A note falls out of the envelope, and it’s.. in braille.

You sneak into Matt’s office, pulling out a braille dictionary, and you quickly figure out that the note says, ‘We’re okay?’

In the middle of his work day, Matt gets a text.

‘We’re okay.’

When you tell your mom you got invited to go out with some friends from high school, she nearly jumps with excitement. You weren’t exactly popular in High School—that’s not really something you hide, since you’re now going into your senior year of college and you can admit that you were something of a loser in high school..

And in college. But, at your college, that’s more normal and even encouraged, so you run with it.

But your stomach churns at the idea of hanging out with the girls that you hung out with in high school—Wasn’t one of them married?

You knew from your mom, mostly, that the three girls from high school stayed very much in touch throughout their time in college. They were always closer to each other than you were with them, but you know that wasn’t really their fault. They were dumb teenagers just like you.

Maybe not inviting you to hangout outside of school was a side effect of being a seventeen-year-old, as so many things were.

You tell her that you have no interest in going out with them, but she tells you that you should have some friends at home! You want to tell her that having no friends was one reason why you went away to school, but instead, you text them back, asking what they had in mind.

So that’s how you end up in a bar two towns over, liquor burning the back of your throat, your head pounding and your ears aching. Your face twists into despair as you swallow the shot, not feeling as good as your ‘friends’. You’ve never been a fan of drinking, even feeling guilty when you took your first shot of communion wine when you were 8.

Your friends start giggling and laughing as you try to keep up with the conversation, a little lost, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you poke at the ice in your empty glass with a straw.

Then, the bartender comes over to you, placing your drink of choice in front of you, your friends pausing their conversation as she does.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order that,” You say politely, smiling awkwardly to her. You wish you were underage, you wish you were anywhere but here, you wish—

“Actually, the gentleman at the bar got it for you,” she smiles, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, glancing at the bar and—

Warmth explodes in your chest, your heart beginning to thump loudly in your ears.

Your friends laugh a bit, shoving your shoulders gently, teasing you.

“You have to go talk to him,” One starts, and another picks up,

“He’s hot!” You smile shyly down to the drink in front of you and nod,

“Fine.” You hum, picking up the drink and walking over to where Matt sits at the bar, sipping a whiskey on ice. You sit next to him, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, and then his head turns to you.

“Why are you here with people you don’t like?” he asks, and you just blink in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your friends. You don’t like them.” He says, and you just blush, embarrassed.

“How do you know that?” You ask, and he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re just.. quieter than usual.” He says honestly, sending you a sympathetic smile. You feel seen in the worst way possible. It’s like you’ve spent your entire life hiding, and Matt can see you for exactly what you are. Your face burns with embarrassment, taking another sip of your drink.

“Can we just flirt and almost fuck like we usually do?” You wonder.

“That makes it sound so much more.. casual than it is.” He pouts, and you just laugh, already feeling more relaxed than you had been before. And it isn’t even because of the alcohol, or so you suspect.

“What are you doing in a bar two towns over?” You ask, unsure how to respond to his comment about the casualness of your.. relationship, although that’s a rather strong word for what you two have.

“I was meeting with a client in town,” he responds, “Thought I’d stop for a drink before going home.” He says, and all you can find to respond is,

“Won’t your wife be mad at you for getting a drink when you could be home?” And he laughs, like you said something funny or cute.

“No, when she says she’s working late, she’s probably getting a drink and hooking up with someone. I thought I’d try it.” He smirks, and your face flushes. This is not a man who has any pure or holy intentions, and that absolutely turns you on. You have so little inhibition at this point that you simply lean forward, grab his tie, and pull him in for a long kiss.

Your nose twitches at the smell of vanilla, mixed with a bit of the whiskey, but quickly followed by just a hint of lemon. His hand quickly finds your waist, causing your posture to straighten as he kisses you deeper, his other hand trailing up your thigh, just like that first day outside the church.

The bar is dingy, so no one cares when he pulls away to finish his drink, then, straightens out his tie (which might kill you), and then he stands up, taking your hand in his.

“Let’s go,” he says quickly, pulling you along to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. On the way there, your friends whistle and hoot, and while your face flushes, Matt does not seem to even notice. He opens the bathroom door without hesitation, like he knows it will be empty.

And the bathroom is.. disgusting. It’s dingy, dirty, but the sink looks.. clean enough. As soon as the door is closed behind you, Matt has you against it, his hands exploring your body as he kisses you, your hands instinctively going to his hair, as if you’ve done this a million times before.

His kisses are gentle, but invasive, like he wants to taste every single inch of your mouth with his tongue, and you happily let him. His fingers slip beneath your skirt, creeping up, finally finding the waistband of your panties, and he hums against your lips as if to shush you when you whine at the contact, his fingers slipping right under them to touch your throbbing cunt—It’s the type of warmth he’ll chase during cold, snowy days come winter.

His lips begin to attack your skin, kissing your jaw and your neck as he rubs circles into your clit, sucking up the breathy moans that escape your lips as he touches you. You’re soaking wet, and he wonders if you’ve ever been with anyone who knows where your clit is.

His fingers don’t even slip inside you, they just rub your clit with the attention it deserves, Matt taking your moans and how your hands grip his shirt as payment. But the movement of his fingers are too much for you, and before you know it, you’re squeezing your eyes tight, hands tangled in his clothes and hair, as you reach your first orgasm of many brought to you by the man.

He continues to rub your clit as you come down from that high, your breath getting more even, despite the way your skin burns and cum drips down your thighs. Then, he kisses you, jarringly soft—

“All that over some attention from my fingers?” He teases, that shit eating grin on his face. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, defend yourself, but you recognize, as does he, that he holds all the power in this dynamic.

“If I say yes, will you fuck me properly?” Because ‘make love’, despite what your mother and aunts always said, doesn’t seem proper. You two aren’t in love.. you’re in lust for this man—Or at least, you’re telling yourself that because of how desperately you want his cock inside you.

“I guess you’ll have to try it and find out.” He says, as if he’s not hard, his cock twitching in his pants at every little whiff he gets of you.

“Yes.” You hum, “All that over your fingers,” And he just smirks before asking,

“Anything else?”

“…Please?” And it seems to be the magic word, because he leans forward and kisses your cheek before adding,

“Good girl.” And at how excited that makes you, Matt finds himself practically fumbling for the condom he had put in his wallet the day he met you, but as soon as you realize it, you’re grabbing at his hands, trying to take it out of his hands, and his free hand finds your chin, gripping it just tightly enough to make your brain feel fuzzy, “What? What is it, baby?” he asks, and you have to take a moment before you respond,

“I’m on the pill, we don’t need a condom,” And a part of Matt’s brain that never quite grew out of the Catholic upbringing in which he was raised wants to remind you of all of the complications that could come with that, but another, stronger and more tempting part of his brain, the devil part of his brain thinks about the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, in the middle of this dingy fucking bathroom, with your ‘friends’ waiting outside, and he literally tosses the condom on the floor.

No words are spoken as he kisses you again, his hand that was holding the condom now working on unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, his free hand simply holding yours—perhaps the most romantic thing a man has ever done for you.

Eventually, your panties are rolled down to your ankles, and he pulls you just to the edge of the sink so you’re hanging onto him for dear life, and he just kisses you, and in between kisses he says, “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, just like that,”, and you trust him.

He pulls away from kissing you, to take your chin in his hand one more time and demand your attention.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he starts, “And it might hurt at first, but we’re gonna go slow, okay?”

“Okay,” and he kisses your forehead, strikingly loving compared to the situation that you have found yourself in. You wait, anticipation dripping down your thighs, before Matt slowly pushes himself inside of you, and as he fills you up, you moan into his skin.

There’s a part of Matt that starts shaking at the feeling of how tight you are around him. He lets out a low groan, his breath hot against your neck, as he bottoms out inside of you, his finger twitching a bit, aching to fuck you so intensely you’ll forget your own name..

But he resists, waiting for your grip on him to loosen softly,

“We’re okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“We’re okay,” You breath out, ready for him to move.

“Yeah, I know, baby, we’re okay,” he purrs, before slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to thrust in and out of you, only encouraged by your moans as they begin to pick up, thrusting into you faster, unable to resist the way you clench around him.

Your fingers barely scrape over his skin as he thrusts into you, his lips kissing your skin. He wants to tease you, he wants to tell you that you’re so dirty, letting a grown man fuck you in a dingy bathroom, but he finds himself lost in your warmth, unable to provide you with the dirty talk that he has dreamt of giving you for months.

But.. this is better. This is a well put together man, who falls apart at the feeling of your cunt, who shudders at the feeling of your hands on his, who tears apart at the seams of his being when your lips touch his. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to being an artist, mending and molding him with your hands.

It’s mesmerizing, and if you could, you’d stay here forever, letting him fuck into you like it’s his god damn job, slowly becoming faster, harder, more intense, never letting up, so you decide to push him—

“Need you to come inside me,” You pant out, and Matt won’t ever admit it to you, but he almost comes right then and there, not even bothering to give you a warning. Almost.

“I will, baby,” He hums, kissing your neck as sweat glistens his forehead, trying to push himself, trying to fuck you like you deserve, like he knows you deserve, his thrusts unrelenting.

Your thighs begin to shake as you claw at him, your breath catching in your throat.

“Matt- Please, oh my god—” You whine, “I’m gon—”

“Yeah, I know, baby, You’re squeezing around me so well,” He purrs, “C’mon, you can cum, you just gotta let go for me,” He advises, “C’mon, show me how good I’m making you feel,” And as you creep closer to the edge, your heart thumps loudly in his ears- You can’t help yourself. You’re sort of taken by the fact that when he’s breathless like this, you can hear his New York accent twinge out of him..

And that might just be what pushes you over the edge.

You cum with a moan, shuddered into his ear, panting as he keeps thrusting into you. The only time your mind wanders is rather briefly, as the way the stained glass windows looked in your church on the day you met him.

He lets out a soft whimper as he bathes in the feeling of you coming around his cock, the feeling of your hands in his hair, the feeling of your breath against his neck—he’s actually falling apart, and his thrusts only stutter as he comes inside you, deep deep within you.

Neither of you say anything as your hips pathetically roll, and he leads you down from your high as he slows his thrusts. For a moment, you both need to sit in the silence of your breathing..

And then, you start to laugh.

He laughs with you.

“What’s so funny?” He asks through laughs, tracing the side of your face with his hand, and you just laugh harder.

“You’re just..” You find the words, “You just exceeded my expectations is all,” and it’s so funny to him, that that’s where your mind goes after he fucked you so well. You’re adorable, he thinks, and he needs to keep you like this forever, stuck in time with his cum dripping down your legs.

When you both come down to earth, finally, he kisses you and says gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” And you happily oblige him.

He helps you off the sink, steadying you with his arms as your legs shake, holding onto him like a newborn deer, unsure of your movements.

But soon enough, you’re stable enough to stand on your own and the dawning realization hits you— you just ran away from your friends to go fuck a married man. And.. there’s so little regret—really, there’s nothing much at all that you feel besides an aching in your core for more.

He squeezes your arm gently, before asking,

“Feeling okay, honey?” he asks gently. And you just grin at him.

“Never better.”

So, funny enough..

You get grounded after your night out.

“Grounded?” Matt laughs as you tell him that, not at all caring that he has you sitting on his office desk, hands wandering your thighs, “You’re twenty one, how’d they ground you?” He ponders, and you huff.

“Well, my fuckin’ friends were telling their parents about this hookup I had in the bar, and their parents told mine, and they got mad at me—So now I’m only allowed to go to work, and then go home.” You huff.

Matt smirks against your skin, kissing your neck. He pulls back and grips your chin, tilting your head up to look to him, his thumb slipping into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

“What’re you gonna do all summer, stuck in your big bad bosses house?” he asks, and you just roll your eyes as your face reddens. “Don’t worry, pretty thing,” he says gently, planting a long kiss to your jaw, “Your old man is gonna take good care of you.”

And you know he means it, too.

One weekend, your parents go away. They trust you won’t have any boys over, not even considering the idea that you’d have Mr. Murdock over.

He has his arm wrapped around you as you lay in bed, mumbling something soft in your ear. You roll over, admiring him for a minute, the way his eyes look.. he’s so pretty. You reach out and gently touch the skin around his eyes, noticing the scarring around his eyes.

“Hm?” You question, tilting your head. You didn’t quite hear him. He looks at you for a long time before responding,

“I think you’re hard of hearing,” And you can tell by the tone of his voice that he means it. “I’ve noticed it a lot, you always miss things when you aren’t looking right at people, and you’re always asking people to repeat themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just.. You should be able to get the resources you need to help with that.” He shrugs, like it isn’t the most observant anyone’s ever been of you.

You lean in and kiss him, for a long time, your hand on his cheek. When you pull away, you take a second to breath before kissing him again.

“What was that for?” He eventually asks, a smile on his face.

“I just..” You shrug, “No one’s ever really noticed anything like that about me.” You feel seen, in a way that pulls at your heart. He smiles gently to you, kissing your forehead before responding,

“All I’ll ever want is for you to feel seen.”

The end of the summer comes a lot faster than you would’ve liked. You had a great summer, you tell yourself, you spent a lot of time at work with Lucas, smoking weed, sitting under the stars, and being with Matt.

But, as your move in date for your senior year approaches, and you begin to start packing, an anxiety starts to creep into you.

How will you say goodbye to him?

Neither of you have discussed what will happen when that day comes, but it looms over you like doomsday. Each day that passes, you get hit harder and harder with the realization that summer will end, and nothing will be the same.

And eventually, though you will and pray it does not, the day comes.

It’s hot. Blaring hot, hotter than you would’ve liked. Even as the sun begins to set, there’s a brutality to the air that does not provide any relief.

You’ve already said goodbye to Lucas and Matt’s wife, so now, you just sit on your front porch, staring at the house down the street. When the door to the house opens, you advert your eyes like you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Soon after, you pick your head up to see Matt approaching you. He smiles to you, and you try to smile back, but your heart aches with the knowledge that this will be the last time you see him until.. well, you aren’t sure when. You stand up to meet him at the end of your driveway.

“All packed?” he asks. You scoff softly.

“Something like that.” You shrug, and he smiles.

“What’re you still missing?” You answer before you can stop yourself.

“You.” You say, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. Immediately, his arms are around you, overheating you in the late August weather, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. He holds you gently, as if you’ll break when he lets go, crying into your shoulder. His hand rubs your back as he gently shushes you.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, “I’ll be here when you get back.” He promises, and you know he’s right. But for the first time, leaving your home will be hard, and you do not know what to do about it, other than buy a candle that might smell like him.

You stay like that for a long time, longer than you care to admit, before he slowly pulls away. You look to him for a few minutes, before he kisses your forehead. He hands you an old Columbia tee shirt of his, one that smells just like him, and you clutch it like your life depends on it.

“We’re okay?” He asks gently, and even if it’s a lie, you nod, and respond,

“We’re okay.”

Fall

Adjusting to dorm life comes back to you quicker than you would’ve thought, despite your heartbreak that came with living. You and your friends fill your time with studying, smoking, and doing anything you can to distract yourself from the aching in your chest.

But, you can’t deny, that on nights where it’s too hot to sleep, you scroll through Facebook—yes, Facebook of all things, looking at photos of Matt, getting just small glances into his life from two hundred miles away.

And as the time melts away, you become more and more.. numb to the pain that stung so intensely.. But you also spend a lot of time looking for the cologne that he wore, and you won’t deny that when your roommate leaves for the weekend, you spend hours in the memories of the summer, with your hand between your legs, aching for just a bit of the pleasure he gave you.

You almost have a heart attack when your mom asks you to come to church with her while you’re home for fall break. Of course you’ll go, of course it’ll be your pleasure, mainly because you’re hoping—maybe even praying for him to be there.

When that Sunday comes, you spend an hour getting ready. You know that Matt is blind and won’t care, but maybe a part of you believes you need to dress all pretty for him. You even wear the sundress you wore for Easter Sunday.

Your thighs are already slick with heat when you get there, and your eyes scan the crowd for Matt.. and when you eventually find him, your breath hitches in your throat, just like the first night you felt him inside you.

You grin as you see him, all by himself, at the back of the church. You excuse yourself from your parents, making your way back to him like it’s your god damn birthday you’re so excited.

But as soon as you approach him, someone calls his name behind you—an old friend or maybe a coworker, and Matt walks toward you, and you open your mouth to say something your eyes following him, and then—

He walks right past you, avoiding you completely. Your face falls with disappointment, your heart sinking. Maybe.. he just didn’t realize it was you. Maybe. You don’t know, but it messes with your head throughout all of the service.

You and your family are sitting more towards the back, while Matt and his family sits in front of you—You watch him like it’s your damn job, waiting, waiting, Until—

He gets up, quietly making his way towards a door to the side, one that will lead downstairs and to a restroom. You begin to count to sixty, waiting so very patiently, before quietly excusing yourself, and following him down the stairs.

As soon as you open the basement door, Matt is pulling you further into the basement, to a deep dark corner, and immediately, you’re pressed against the wall, his mouth on your neck. You moan softly as your hands find his hair, tugging on it, as his hands begin to explore your thighs like a starving man.

“Matt—” You go to say, but his hand clamps over your mouth as his free hand tugs off your panties, his hand cupping your cunt as you roll your hips, desperate for more contact than that.

“You gonna behave for me, pretty thing?” He grumbles, and you nod against his hand, so he bites down on your shoulder, “There we go,” He mumbles, his hand coming off your mouth to pull your panties down, before working on his belt and his zipper.

Your hands work at his hair, trying to cope with the fact that he is not being gentle, in fact, he seems to be purposefully mean, like he’s trying to see if you can even take it. This is nothing like when he first fucked you—this is a fucking that is making you see stars, and will leave you in tears.

Two of his fingers spread you open, making sure that you’re ready for him to fuck you. When he decides he is, still kissing your neck, he thrusts into you quickly—unapologetically. He doesn’t care about much else besides chasing that feeling of you clenched around him. He bottoms out inside you and moans against your neck.

Then, his thrusts start. He doesn’t even pretend to start slow, immediately he is thrusting into you, harder than he had in months, relishing in the feeling and the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Missed your tight cunt,” He mumbles into your ear, “Missed how well you take me,” he hummed, his pace relentless. He’s trying to satisfy his cravings for you, but his attempt is messy and he’s losing his mind over the idea of not being able to fuck you for another few months.

“I’m—” You whine, your hair falling into your face, your brain fuzzy, “I’m gonna—” He coos softly as he grips your chin with his free hand.

“C’mon, pretty thing, cum for me—” And just like that, you do. You absolutely do. You don’t hold back, and as soon as he feels you clenching around him, he’s coming too. You don’t know what else to do other than let him ride his high. When he pulls out, his hand comes back to your thighs, beginning to gently massage the mess the two of you had made into your thighs, pulling your panties back up so that for the rest of the service, you kind of just.. have to sit with that.

Your hands stay in his hair as he cleans the pair of you up, and you lean in to kiss him, and he lets you, but.. he doesn’t really kiss you back. And it breaks your heart. Your eyebrows furrow, as you reach for him like a child, and he just grabs your hands, “Just.. relax, okay?” He sighs.

“Why are you being like this?” You ask, “You’re..” You struggle to find the words as he buckles his pants, ignoring your gaze. There’s something inside him that’s stopping him from being affectionate towards you, that reminds him that you’ll be heading back off to school in a day or two and his heart will break all over again.

“Go back upstairs, Honey,” he says, but you shake your head.

“No, stop ignoring me—”

“Now.” He says firmly, ignoring the nauseating feeling as the saltiness of your tears fill his senses.

“Fuck. You.” you spit out, and he’s not angry with you for your reaction. It’s valid, of course. He knows why you’re angry, he just fucked you lovelessly, in the basement of the church where you first met.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he listens to the angry sniffles and foot stomps as you make your way back upstairs.

Matt’s neglect made you turn a new corner, and as soon as you get back to school, you find yourself constantly working and studying. You can’t possibly think about the intensity of his thrusts, the sternness of his voice.

You can’t talk about it, you can’t talk to any of your friends about the way you fell in love with a married man, you can’t talk to your parents about how you developed such intense feelings for the man who lives down the street..

So, you study.

On Halloween, you get a little too fucked up.

You drink an intense amount, needing to wash away the anger you have for Matt. At some point, you’re sitting in your bathroom floor, leaning against your wall.

Matt does not answer your call.

But you listen to his voicemail like it’s a sermon.

Winter

After Halloween, you begin to drink water every day, you eat more balanced meals, and you cut back on your substances. Truly, you know you need to make a change. And you do—school work becomes less of a coping mechanism and more of your job again. You mostly focus on enjoying your senior year.

But as the winter creeps in, you shop around for a gift for Lucas, fondly remembering your time with the young boy, despite your interaction with his father back in October. You store the gift away and focus on your finals. By the time you make it home, you’re exhausted.

You sleep most of the day on the 22nd, and then on the 23rd, you spend your day unpacking and helping your mom get ready for Christmas. Before you go to bed, you wrap Lucas’ present, and store it away, not caring much to deliver it any time soon.

You tell yourself you’ll drop it off tomorrow, and you aren’t sure if you’d rather come face to face with Matt, or his wife. The walk takes seemingly forever, and you feel anxious the whole way there.

You knock on the door, and wait with baited breath.. When Matt opens the door, your breath catches. He looks really good—A grey button up and dark jeans. You just smile at him.

“Hey,” You breath, “Uhm, I was just.. I wanted to give this to Lucas.. Is he here?” You question, not knowing where else he’d be on Christmas Eve.

“Oh, he’s actually staying at his moms today,” And your head darts up.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Matt says somewhat sheepishly, “We’re.. Separated. In the process of getting divorced.” He confesses.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” He chuckles, “I guess It was inevitable.”

“Well.. Then I guess you’re not doing anything tonight, huh?” You wonder, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll probably just have a drink and listen to Christmas music.” He chuckles. You ache for him to invite you over. But you don’t get to tell him that before he says, “I’m so sorry about.. October.” He sighs gently, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You say gently,

“No. It’s not. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve that. I really am sorry.”

“I got over it,” You shrug.

“So.. We’re okay?” He offers.

You smile.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good. Because I’d really like to take you out sometime. Like, a real date.” He offers, and your face flushes.

“Yeah, that would be really nice..” You grin.

“No more sneaking around?”

“Well.. Maybe from my parents.. And it is kind of sexy,” You grin, taking a step up further onto his porch.

“Yeah?” He laughs, his hand coming down to rest on his waist. “Maybe that could be arranged.” He hums.

“Good,” You hum, and then you open your mouth to add, but he cuts you off.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Tell your parents you’re keeping your old man company?” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I’d really like that.”

“That’s my baby,” He hums, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #danny speaks to the void #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year

Note

I love everything about dad!Eddie!!!!!! It’s the cutest thing ever!!! Are your requests open? If so could I request dad!eddie with pregnant wife!reader and they’re little boy who’s so excited to have a little sibling? Their boy is convinced it’s a girl and Wayne somewhat is too and just lots of sweet fluff and their day to day as a family and Eddie being so infatuated with his pregnant wife 🥰🖤🖤 I just love the thought of Eddie being a dad and loving all on his pregnant wife

Dad!Eddie is my weakness! I actually thought this was a perfect setup for a part two to this story about Eddie picking your son up from school! I hope you enjoy this little family 🩷

Words: 3.5k

“Eddie, I can do it myself,” you say with a chuckle.

“Don’t be silly,” Eddie says. A low grunt escapes his lips as he loads himself up with as many grocery bags as he can. It wasn’t enough that he wouldn’t let you go shopping for food on your own, now he had to risk hurting himself by carrying everything in one go so you don’t pick up a single bag.

Jack hops out of the backseat and holds his arms out for one of the plastic bags his dad has. Eddie obliges and lets him take two light bags, one for each hand. Usually, you do the grocery shopping alone, but now that you’re in your second trimester, your husband insisted that you have some help. It came at a price though. Having both Eddie and Jack at the grocery store made the food bill go up by twenty bucks because they kept grabbing things off the shelves that they thought looked good.

“I’m not useless, you know,” you lament as you follow the two boys into the house. Jack can’t reach to lift the bags up to the counter, so you assist him with that, managing not to get scolded by Eddie.

“Of course not,” he replies as he unburdens himself of the packages. He walks over and rests his hands on your emerging bump. “You’re growing our second baby.”

“My sister!” Jack chimes in. You and Eddie watch as the five-year-old grabs a chair from the kitchen table and drags it over the counter. His little arms and legs push him up so he can see the bags on the counter.

“Still think the baby’s a girl, huh?” you ask, walking to stand next to him. He nods as you wrap your arm around his tiny shoulders.

“I know it,” Jack states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. That was interesting to both you and Eddie, seeing as you had both elected not to find out the sex of the baby. “Grampa Wayne knows it too.”

“Wayne says he thinks it’s a girl, bud,” Eddie reminds him. Jack shrugs this off like it means nothing to him. “And what’re you doing up here at the counter?”

“Gonna help,” the boy answers as he pulls a bunch of bananas out of a bag.

“Sweetie, you don’t have to do that,” you tell your son.

“Wanna,” Jack says with a shrug. “I’ll help Daddy and you can relax.”

“Good man,” Eddie says, ruffling the kid’s brown curls. Your husband’s eyes widen in question when you arch an eyebrow at him. “What? Raising a little gentleman here.”

“We are,” you acquiesce, leaning in to kiss Jack’s head. “But I’m not some weakling, guys.”

“Nope,” Jack muses as he inspects a jar of peanut butter. “You’re super strong, Mommy.”

The praise from your son makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and spin him around—but you’re pretty sure that would give Eddie a heart attack.

“The strongest,” your husband agrees. He saunters over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. “The most beautiful.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “The sweetest.” Kiss. “The smartest.” Kiss. “The best.”

It doesn’t matter how long the two of you have been together, his words still cause heat in your face and butterflies in your belly. The way he stares into your eyes with such adoration and love has your knees feeling weak. You refuse to let them buckle though, or Eddie would have a cow.

“Well, thank you, my studly charmer. But you might want to pay more attention to your son than me if you want to have any of the Oreos we bought.”

Eddie spins around to see chocolate crumbs dusted across Jack’s lips and cheeks, a sneaky smile on his face as he’s slowly pulling his hand out of the blue packaging.

“Hey! Hands off my cookies, shortstuff!”

“How’s that feel, princess?” Eddie asks as you stretch the muscles of your torso out. There had been a cramp in your lower back that he just finished rubbing out.

“So much better, thank you,” you say with a content sigh as you lean back against his chest. “If you keep calling me ‘princess,’ what’re you gonna call the baby if Jack is right and she’s a girl?”

Eddie hums as he wraps his arms around your body to rest them on your bump. “You underestimate the stash of pet names I have, baby. Angel? Little chick? Kitten?”

“You know I’m giving birth to a human, right?” you tease. Eddie slips his cold hands beneath your pajama top, making you let out a small yelp. Shoulders shaking with laughter, he reaches up and covers your mouth with one hand.

“Shhh, you’re gonna wake him up.”

Jack is fast asleep across the hall, but he’s always been a light sleeper. Neither you nor Eddie is looking forward to how cranky that will make the little boy once the new baby arrives and cries all night.

“Have I ever told you how absolutely beautiful you are?” Eddie asks as he lays his head down on top of yours.

“Mm,” you muse as you let your eyes slip closed. “Not in the last twenty minutes or so, no.”

Calloused hands rub softly over your bump, gentle and warm and relaxing enough to lull you to sleep.

“You’re just s’perfect,” Eddie mumbles against your hair, more to himself than to you. His praise has your body flushing and you snuggle further back into his warmth.

“Do you think the baby is a girl?” you ask, doing your best to push sleep off.

“I don’t know. It’s what all those silly little tests we’ve tried have told us. So, I guess that’s what I’m leaning towards,” Eddie admits. “It’s no secret I want a daughter, but if we have another son, I’m going to love him every bit as much.”

Nodding slowly, you lift one of his large hands to your mouth so you can press kisses on the rough skin there.

“What about you?” Eddie asks. “Any motherly intuition telling you one way or another if Baby Munson Number 2 is a boy or girl?”

“Nope,” you say. “Sorry to report that my body does not bring those findings to my brain. And what about you, huh? You’re the one who sent your swimmers to find my egg. You telling me that you don’t know if the best swimmer in your lineup is a boy or a girl?”

Eddie chuckles and presses a few quick kisses to the crown of your head. “We should get some sleep, babe.”

“M’kay.”

You’re already halfway there as Eddie leans over and flicks the lamp on the nightstand off. As your husband maneuvers himself below you, you let him move you how he needs to, far too tired to even let out a groan when his knee somehow knocks against your spine.

Eddie lays his head down on his pillow and pulls you into his arms. You waste no time tucking your head below his chin and nuzzling into the warmth and security of his chest.

“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

After a few moments of heavy silence being all that responds to his words, Eddie cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of your sleeping face. There’s a peacefulness about you when you sleep and the way your lips part slightly has Eddie chuckling.

Yep, he sure was right before. You are just so perfect in his eyes.

Sunday family dinners are something Eddie only saw in movies growing up. Sure, he and Wayne had dinner together most nights but there was no other family to have dinner with. No aunts or uncles to come over or no grandparents to visit. Ever since Jack was born though, most Sundays have been family dinner nights. Sometimes some of your family would come over or you’d go over to theirs, but most weekends it was Wayne coming over or the three of you traveling the few miles over to Forest Hills to have dinner at the trailer. This week, Wayne is dropping by, and Eddie has enlisted Jack to help him make dinner.

“Okay, now a teaspoon—no, that’s a tablespoon. There ya go. Dump that into the bowl. Perfect!”

Jack beams with pride and does a little wiggle on the chair he’s standing on.

“Now what?” Jack asks.

“Now,” Eddie says as he plucks his rings off his finger one by one. Your son’s eyebrows furrow together when Eddie even takes off his wedding ring—that’s not one he usually removes. “We get our hands in there and mix everything together.”

“No rings?” Jack asks, pushing his sleeves up his little arms.

“No rings,” Eddie affirms. “I don’t want stuff to get caked in them.”

“S’not cake,” Jack tells his father with a giggle. “It’s meatloaf!”

“Silly me,” Eddie says. “Ready?”

Jack nods and the two of them stick their hands in the large bowl, raw ground beef squishing between their fingers and cold ketchup and egg yolks squelching as they work in tandem to combine the ingredients. Little giggles travel out to you in the hallway as you make your way towards them. Both of your boys have their backs to you as you enter, and you lean against the archway and cross your arms over your chest as you watch them. Their heads are close together and murmurs of their conversation sound like a dull hum from the few feet away. Eddie tries to move his hair out of his face by shaking his head, but to no avail. Chuckling to yourself, you push off the wall and slip a scrunchie off your wrist as you make your way to him.

Eddie startles, not knowing you were there as you collect his hair at the back of his head. He lets out a self-deprecating huff of laughter as you tie the hair at the nape of his neck. The right shoulder blade beneath his black t-shirt is too tempting as it moves back and forth with the motions of his arms; you just have to press a kiss to it. A soft smile curls at the corners of Eddie’s lips as he and Jack finish mashing all the ingredients together.

“It’s gonna be delicious,” you say as you snake your arms around your husband’s waist from behind. Resting your cheek against his back, you feel the muscles flex and stretch beneath his skin as he wipes his hands off on a towel.

“What should we have with the meatloaf?” Eddie asks.

“Sweet potatoes!” Jack cheers as Eddie tosses him the towel.

“Ooh,” you croon, picking your head up from Eddie’s back. “That sounds really good. With cinnamon and butter.”

“Yum!” Jack hums as he wipes his little hands off.

“Whatever my loves want,” Eddie says. He turns in your grip to wrap one arm around your shoulders. “Guessing baby Munson wants sweet potatoes too?”

“Good guess,” you tell him with a peck on the cheek.

Eddie ends up preparing the root vegetables by himself because you fall asleep on the couch with your son curled up to your side, snoozing as well. He hardly minds though, preferring to be the one doing any and all work and letting you and Jack rest. The clock above the oven keeps catching his eye, checking to see if the time Wayne said he’d be by is approaching any faster. As happy as he is to be seeing the closest person he ever had to a parent, he doesn’t want the doorbell to disturb your sleep. Jack? That would be fine because then the little boy would be more likely to sleep through the night. You were so tired though from pregnancy that you could nap for hours and still sleep all night long.

Deciding he could go for a cold beer, Eddie pops open the fridge and pulls out a can. He nudges the door closed with his hip but knocks it a little too hard and sends the jars and bottles that are on the inside of the door sliding around. Eddie winces and cracks open the beer can as quietly as he can. The sound of footsteps has Eddie groaning, but then he hears how fast and light they are, and he realizes it’s Jack who woke up.

“Dinner ready?” the sleepy boy asks, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand.

“Not yet,” Eddie replies before taking a long swig of beer. “Soon, though. And Grandpa Wayne should be here any minute.”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Is the baby hurting Mommy?”

A deep frown creases Eddie’s face and he sets his beer down on the counter.

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

Jack shrugs and walks closer to his dad. Meeting him halfway through the kitchen, Eddie hefts the boy up and balances him on his hip.

“She’s always tired.” The five-year-old sighs and lays his head on his father’s shoulder. “She cries sometimes. An’ you don’t want her to do lots of stuff. Like when I get sick or hurted my leg.”

“Nah,” Eddie assures him with a shake of his head. “The baby isn’t hurting Mommy. It’s just that the baby is growing in her tummy and that takes a lot of Mommy’s energy. And it’s easier for her to cry because the baby growing makes her more emotional. Like when you’re tired, right? You get all cranky and whiny.” He tickles Jack’s belly, making the little boy giggle and squirm around in his arms.

“So, you don’t want Mommy to do stuff cause she’s tired?” Jack asks once he’s caught his breath.

“That’s part of it. But it’s also because I love her so much. Mommy’s already doing so much just by growing a baby. That’s the most important job, so anything I do is to make things easier for her.”

“I wanna help. I love her too,” Jack says.

“I know.” Eddie presses a kiss into the boy’s curls. “You do help her.”

“How?” The adorable way he scrunches up his little face reminds Eddie of your expression when you get confused by something.

“By being you,” Eddie says, bouncing your son in his arms. “You make her happy and you make her laugh.”

“That helps?”

“So much!” Your voice has both of them turning to see you walking into the kitchen. The bright grin on your face tells Eddie that you heard enough of the conversation to know what’s going on. “I’m okay, sweet boy.” You rub the back of your fingers against his cheek, and he gives you a gap toothed smile.

The ring of the doorbell has Jack’s head turning towards the front door and scrambling to get out of his dad’s arms. Eddie sets him down and the sound of little feet thumping down the hallway fades from the two of you.

You expect Eddie to follow your son out of the room, but instead he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs your body up against his.

“How was your nap, beautiful?”

“Good,” you tell him as you slip your arms around his neck. “But I don’t like waking up without you there.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Well, I would’ve been there if my little family didn’t want me to make sweet potatoes so badly.”

Playfully, you roll your eyes at him and lean up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Not true. If you weren’t making food for dinner, you would’ve been doing something else so that I wouldn’t have to do it later. Throwing in a load of laundry or balancing the checkbook.”

“Don’t think you want me doing that last one again,” Eddie says, wrinkling up his nose in the way that you find utterly adorable. “I still don’t know where that seventy-five dollars went.”

“Guess you’re just going to have to let me handle some things,” you say with a shrug.

Before Eddie gets the chance to respond, Jack’s booming footsteps run back into the kitchen, followed by a heavier gate approaching.

“Grampa Wayne is here!”

You drop your arms from around Eddie’s neck, but he keeps his tight hold on your waist.

“Tell him to take you out for pizza,” Eddie mumbles, too low for Jack to hear, as he lowers his head and presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Down boy,” you mutter in reply and press your hands against his chest. Eddie groans and reluctantly drops his arms from around you.

Wayne steps in the kitchen and ruffles Jack’s curls. “Hey, Ed. Hiya darlin’,” the older man says as approaches you. “How’re ya feeling?”

“Feeling pretty good,” you tell him. “Your nephew is still treating me like I’m fragile, though.”

“Not fragile,” Eddie interjects. “Just precious.”

The oven timer beeps, and your husband is immediately on it. He slips the oven mitts on and ushers Jack out of the way so he doesn’t get caught in the wave of heat that will escape.

Wayne steps up next to you and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I know he can get a bit much,” the man says softly, “but he just wants to make sure his girls are taken care of.”

“Ah,” you hum, resting a hand on your bump. “Forgot you and Jack are both on Team Baby Girl.”

“What can I say? Kid is persuasive,” Wayne says with a playful look in his eye.

“You’re telling me. All he has to do is look at me with those big brown Munson eyes and I almost cave and let him have that cookie before dinner that he’s begging me for. But I don’t think even Jack’s cuteness and coercion can determine the sex of a baby.”

“Maybe not,” Wayne says with a chuckle. “But he sure can make me wanna agree with him that the baby’s a girl.”

“She is!” Jack says, hopping over to stand in front of you. He leans in and presses a smacking kiss to your belly. “My sister. Can't wait to play with her.”

“You’re gonna be the best big brother ever,” you tell him, cupping his small chin in your hand. The way he smiles up at you fills your body with the warmth of love and affection.

“Dinner is ready,” Eddie announces, dropping the oven mitts down on the counter. “Jacks, help me set the table.”

“I’ll grab the glasses,” you say.

“Uh uh,” Eddie chides, stepping over and taking your hands in his. “I can handle—”

“Eddie,” you cut him off. “I can carry four cups.”

Heaving a sigh as if this is the world’s worst inconvenience, he acquiesces. “I guess that’s okay.”

“How kind of you,” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at him. As you turn around to open the cabinet, Eddie watches you with an adoring smile. When you step into the dining room, Wayne lightly smacks his hand against his nephew’s back.

“She ain’t made of paper, ya know.”

“Oh, I know.” Eddie slips his hands into his pockets and cranes his head to watch you set down a glass at each place setting that Jack is organizing. “Part of me is amused by messing with her now. But mostly…” Eddie trails off, a shy smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I just wanna take care of my girls.”

“Team Baby Girl too, huh?” Wayne asks.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a laugh. “We’ve done all the old wives tale tests. She’s a girl.”

“Got a name?” Wayne asks.

Jack is still meticulously setting up the silverware at each seat at the table, but you make your way into the kitchen in time to hear Wayne’s question.

“We do,” you answer his query. “Wanna be the first to know?”

“Just don’t tell Jack,” Eddie adds.

“I’d be honored,” Wayne says.

Matching smiles on both your and Eddie’s faces, you nod at your husband for him to do the honors. Eddie’s face lights up and the childlike gleam in his eye makes him look like Jack’s twin. He takes a step closer to his uncle so the little one won’t overhear in the other room. Wayne leans in towards Eddie in anticipation. Your husband seems to notice this and takes enjoyment in keeping Wayne in suspense.

“Eddie, if you don’t tell him, I will.”

Grabbing a stack of napkins, you stroll past the two men and Eddie reaches out to swat at your ass.

“Come on and tell me, boy,” Wayne says, annoyance leaking into his tone.

“Fine, fine,” Eddie says, clearly enjoying himself. “Audrey. Audrey Munson.”

A little gasp has everyone turning their heads to see Jack standing in the doorway.

“Is that the baby’s name?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says, clearing his throat. “If she’s a girl.” You hadn’t intended to let Jack know the name just in case you were all wrong and the baby was a boy—which you knew Jack would still love, but he’d be bummed he was wrong. But your son’s happiness has you and Eddie letting all of that go and enjoying his reaction.

Jack grins and starts jumping up and down in one spot, his little hands clenched into fists in his excitement. He runs over and cups your baby bump in his chubby hands.

“Hi, Audrey. I love you!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #request

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rubyblue2005 · 1 year

Text

Au where when Saiki was younger, he sometimes ran into Aren's mom injured and helped her out, and he became something like an unofficial medic to her and her little group. Sometimes when Saiki was patching her up, she would vaguely talk about her kid around his age and stuff. Well, she wouldn't mention Aren by name or talk about him out loud but Saiki just reads her thoughts and so he vaguely knows about her little Hoodlum but then she and her gang moved and Saiki being a little too good at Rock Paper Scissors happened and so they got separated and drifted apart.

Only for some odd years later (Like, four or five) and Aren transfers into Saiki's class with his whole trying to be a normie spiel and how he is totally not gonna be a punk anymore. Aren doesn't really look like his parents (In the same way of how Kusuo and Kusuke don't really look like Kurumi) so Saiki doesn't really suspect anything- and neither does Aren, and they carry on. Imagine a similar situation as the street magician Chouno Uryoku and how his ex-wife did not look anything like how the dude thought of her.

Saiki never really got out of his Street Medic habits and Aren sometimes coming to school with some scrapes from gangsters either trying to pick a fight or drag him back into his past only exacerbates Saiki's medic habits. Like, he always used to carry bandages and alcohol wipes and antibiotic ointment, but had talked to just carrying bandages because a whole medkit had been annoying to carry and needless for an esper like him. Though, he had started carrying a bit more for Kaidou and Hairo when they become closer. (Saiki adds the antibiotic ointment back into his repertoire for Aren)

When they gets close enough and Aren invites them to his house is when the fun really starts. Kaidou and Nendo find Aren's baby album and look through it and everything. But Saiki spots a smaller album on the book shelf and is thinking "Better not show too many of these family albums to those two, who knows what we might see" trying not to think about the album collections documenting his parent's dates and stuff.

And when Aren comes back into the room the four are just vibing and hanging out, Aren even bought out some Coffee jelly as an offering thank you for coming ya introverted bean. So, even Saiki is in a pretty good mood. And then they hear the front door open and close with shuffling and stuff with a 'We're home, Hoodlum!' and Aren going to greet his parents like the totally good kid he is, and Saiki is like "??? That voice sounds kinda familar."

And whadduya know!

When Aren's mom turns around from putting stuff in the fridge, Saiki instanting recognizes her and its the same lady he helped all those years ago! I imagine its not a big dramatic moment but there is a "What a surprise" moment. And she's just like "Haha! Little Medic, you're friends with my brat, what a small world! I hope he's treating you and his other friends right."

And Aren is standing there after trying to introduce his friends like "What." Kaidou says "You know Saiki???? But he never leaves his house!" But Nendou is the one to be like "Wow, Aren's Mom, how do you know my buddy?"'

To which Aren's Mom says briefly that Saiki used to get discounts from the stores near her hangouts (Rough part of town, but great prices for stingy child espers) and how he used to help her and some of her girls. Aren is over here dumbfounded, and Kaidou is just like, "wouldn't he have been like, six, a decade ago??" That Saiki pointedly does not confirm.

But Saiki and Aren's mom are over here just casually talking while all the other teenagers are standing there, bewildered. Like, Aren is over here being like "Hold on, I thought Saiki was a goody-goody, He knows my mom?!?" Meanwhile:

Aren's Mom: How's that brother of yours?

Saiki: Moved to Britain and is still a sore loser.

Aren's Mom: Haha, good to know he's not bothering ya! So, how's my little hoodlum doing in class? Not being a brat is he?

Saiki in a true show of open candidness: If he was a bother, he wouldn't still be in my class.

And Kaidou and Aren are nearly shitting their pants from this being like "SAIKI?????" with it just completely flying over Nendo's head.

Then, the rest of the hang out is Aren's Mom sharing stories of tiny Aren while Saiki is eating more Coffee Jelly

#saiki no psi nan #Saiki K #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #saiki kusuo #aren kuboyasu #saiki k au #Little Medic Saiki Au #could be seen as #kubosai

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a-strange-inkling · 15 days

Note

Haunted bookshop AU for the thing <3 <3

this has awakened things in me! 📚 👻

• chrissy desperately needs an after school job to earn enough money to get away from her mother. she applies at all the small businesses along main street. she gets a few call backs, but none are as peculiar or intriguing as mayflower books, a small antique bookshop that does not bear any resemblance to its fresh, springy name.

• the bookshop is old, disorganized and completely stuffed full. dusty books stacked haphazardly in every nook and cranny, shelves bursting at the seams. with all the stacks, it’s like a labyrinth, there’s a few hidden rooms and reading corners. her mother would hate it. but there’s something warm and cozy about the place that chrissy can’t explain when she comes in to meet with the owner. something that makes her accept the job and take the afternoon shift from three to eight o clock.

• the owner is a sweet old man who’s so happy to have such a nice girl like chrissy to bring some new life into the place. he’s slowing down in years and would like to have his evenings off, but he couldn’t bare leaving the shop all on its own. he seems to really love his store. he talks about it like it’s a person rather than just a building. the arrangement is perfect all spring and summer long. chrissy greatly enjoys running the front desk, exploring the shop, and finding new books to read. it’s the perfect place for her to escape and hide from her life. she slowly starts to fall in love with it too. mr. munson’s right. there’s a warm presence that always makes her feel so happy and at home.

• however, thing change when autumn rolls around and the days get shorter. chrissy’s a little frightened of the dark. the hour before closing she starts to hear noises, books falling over, strange whispering sounds. it goes on for awhile until one night she’s so scared she begins to cry. one of the ghastly noises makes her duck under the desk. there’s someone in the shop with her. she knows it.

• and then there’s a gentle knock on top of the desk and she finds a boy standing there, well a young man. just a few years older than her maybe. and yes, he’s a little scary, with long wild hair and a big leather jacket, but when he smiles chrissy isn’t so frightened anymore and feels a little silly about it. he asks her why she’s so upset and she tells him about the noises and that she feels like she’s going crazy. she thinks the place might be haunted. he laughs, “oh yeah? do you believe in all that? ghosts?”

bonus:

• she whispers that she doesn’t know, a little flushed. but she likes the sound of his laugh, it reminds her a little of mr. munson’s. she asks the strange boy if she can help him find anything. he laughs again, telling her that he knows his way around. his uncle’s the owner and he used to help him run the store when he was a kid.

• chrissy is fascinated. mr. munson never mentioned a nephew before, but then, he is a private, quiet man. he doesn’t say much of anything. the boy tells her his name, eddie, and chrissy promptly replies “i’m chrissy.” he nods bashfully, like he already knew that. he tells her he’ll stay with her and help her close up, if she wants. he knows absolutely everything about the store, that it used to be called munson books, but mr. munson changed the name to mayflower books after his wife, may passed away. eddie excitedly shows her even more secret places and passageways that she didn’t even know existed. he digs around and finds her book titles that he thinks she might like to try too. it’s like he knows all her favorite authors and genres.

• chrissy begins to look forward to closing time now. eddie stops in every night so she won’t be scared or alone. he’ll help her tidy up and sort the shelves. she never hears the noises or whispers when he’s around, he makes her feel so safe. sometimes they just sit and read together, other times they’ll talk until chrissy’s voice is hoarse. to her amazement, she feels herself falling for him.

• it’s of course, quite a horrible shock when she discovers that mr. munson’s nephew was murdered several years ago.

#it’s always ghost chrissy #we need some more pining ghost eddie i think #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #ask game #au five facts game

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nottobehornyonthemain · 1 year

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I’m just going to throw my hat into the ring about Steve’s parents because I’m bored. But like, Let’s spice up the level of shitty parenting.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who’s actually a professional. Steve has said that she’s “super well respected” and, for as much as the fandom likes to play him as a dumbass, you don’t put people whoes only achievement is being a jealous housewife on your résumé, especially when you have another parent with a notable (ostensibly white collar) career.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who’s a news anchor, or a lawyer. Give me a Mrs. Harrington who worked her ass off to be taken seriously by men for the entire late 50’s and early 60’s. Give me a young, ambitious woman with hazel eyes at a mixer for the company she’s working for in Chicago one night, who caught the eye of the charismatic man with ridiculous fluffy brown hair.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who grew up with a veteran father who never really seemed to care. Give me a little boy waiting, every day, for his dad’s letters, waiting for his father Otis to get back from this horrible war. And then he does, and he’s a hero, and suddenly it’s like nothing his son does is worth his notice. When he’s 15 and gets into his first fight? Otis doesn’t even comment on his bruised face before he walks out the door in the morning. When he gets into college? His mother is the one to hand him the watch his parents allegedly both got him as a graduation present. When he gets a job! A good job, where he has his own office and his name on a plate on his desk, not so much as a card.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who promised himself that, if he ever had a son, he would notice. He would pay attention to his kid’s grades, and what they were doing in school. That he would be proud of whatever college his son got into. That if his kid was ever doing something stupid, drinking, fighting, smoking, he would care. And he would say something.

Give me a Mr. Harrington meeting a beautiful woman in Chicago one night, and somehow, convincing her to come back to Hawkins with him. Give me the big news engagement and the blowout wedding fit for two people with nowhere to go but up.

Give me the Harrington couple buying their house, and planning to wait a few years before they start having children. Give me them having their first child, a son.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington being offered the promotion she’s been working towards for years almost immediately after, and taking it.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who never really thought his wife would keep working when they had children, but being smart enough not to say anything about it. Give me them realizing that, between both of their jobs, plans change, and their son will be their only child.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who “doesn’t trust” her husband not because he might be cheating on her, but because, for as much as he can charm and schmooze with just about anyone, he has never had anyone tell him that he lacks actual understanding of his business. Give me a Mrs. Harrington seeing a stack of papers her husband brought home last night where the math doesn’t quite add up. Give me the blowout fight over his shady new business partner and the costs they could save if they just… cut a few corners. Give me her struggling to be taken seriously and explain to him that the consequences could be actual jail time and a complete destruction of their lives. Give me him hating that she thinks she knows better than him about his own business.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who keeps his promise to care about what his son is doing. Give me his unnecessary lectures, and comments and micromanagement whenever his son walks in the door.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who couldn’t care less what her son is doing as long as he’s alive. Give me her bitchy comments that have been her best defense in the professional world for so long rubbing off on her son.

Give me a Steve who’s let it shape him. Who got his brown eyes, and desire to be at the top of the social sphere as soon as possible from his mom. Who got his begrudging tendencies to care while still finding something to complain about from his dad.

Give me a Harrington couple who isn’t absent, exactly. Who have the occasional business trip, but are actually in town when most of this stuff goes down. Give me a house that’s almost always empty, not because no one lives there, but because Mrs. Harrington is out late again tonight because the boss needs to be sure everything is in perfect order for Monday. Because Mr. Harrington absolutely has to close this deal. Because Steve has practice for both swimming and basketball today.

Give me a Steve who craves the domestic because of this. Who doesn’t have big plans or ambitions. Who, at his center, just wants to be able to flop on the couch and watch movies with the people he cares about. Who wants family vacations, and kids, and a big house filled with noise. Give me a Steve who understands that that’s where his love of parties came from.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who watches as his son seems to completely throw away everything he worked so hard to give him. Give me the fights over the beer, and the weed, and the grades. Give me the bombshell that his son didn’t even manage to get into college, and the realization that he needs to learn to be responsible.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who comes home one night to Robin and Dustin eating cereal in his kitchen at midnight. Who doesn’t really know what to say, so he sets down his briefcase and eats a bowl of cereal while asking these children who they are and why they’re in his house. Give me a Mr. Harrington patting his son on the back the next morning and telling he how much he likes the nice girl who can speak every language, and the little boy who can recite the periodic table from memory. Give me a Mr. Harrington who knows he made the right decision when he made his son get a job of his own instead of just working for him.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who, when Steve informs her in the middle of a conversation that he has a boyfriend, doesn’t look up from the mirror where she’s applying her eyeliner.

Give me a Steve who’s had enough of her not caring and asks her, “really? You don’t have anything to say?”

Give me a Mrs. Harrington icily meeting his eyes in the mirror and saying, “Steven. You’ve been putting egg in your hair once a week since you were twelve and a girl in your class told you it makes it shiny, and you’ve been stealing my hairspray even longer.” Then goes back to lining her eyes.

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #steve and dustin #platonic stobin #steddie #implied at least #gay steve harrington #Harrington parents #in my head Mrs Harrington is a Lucile Bluth personality in an elle woods career #and Mr Harrington is just standard multi generational baggage man #honestly I’ve thought too much about backstory for everyone. ask me about Nancy’s one day #the sheep ramble analysis

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impactedfates · 1 year

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I really love your blade and pregnant wife fic! Can I request their lives after the reader joins him on Stellaron Hunters?

A/N: I'M BACK, NO MORE WRITERS BLOCK. And hiii, thank you, I'm glad you liked it :)) And of course!! Here's some mini scenarios and HCs of what happened after the reader joined the Stellaron Hunters

Warnings: None (I hope, correct me if I'm wrong)

Extra: AFAB! Reader (GN terms/pronouns used aside from wife and mother) // OOC Blade most likely // Not proofread, as always correct me if I did smt wrong // PT 1 of the Blade x Pregnant Wife Fic here here.

SilverWolf definitely used you as a way to get Blade to do whatever she wants. If she wants to play a game with him and he says no? All she needs to do is mention you once and suddenly his hands all better and he can play.

He very much cuddles with you in bed (if you don't mind) Just note that if he has his arms around you, then it'll be difficult for you to leave.

When your kid is finally born, he's not exactly the best father but not the worst either. He knows his...demeaner can be scary to others, and he usually doesn't care. But if he scares his kid? I can see him sulking as you try to comfort your child and tell him the "scary old man" is in fact his father.

He asked Elio for some time off to help the kid settle in, as well, Being born in pretty much a criminal family isn't the best.

The child definitely sees Kafka and SilverWolf as their aunties and Sam as their uncle.

For some reason, I'd find it funny that when Elio was showing his more human form (he has one right-?) the child called him Grandpa. Didn't matter how young he looked.

Blade will protect you and his kid with his life, he instructs the two of you to stay put as he does his missions. He hasn't seen you in forever and he's not risking loosing you.

Maybe after the kid is born and has grown up a bit to be able to look after themselves and you're capable, he might be okay with you joining in on his missions.

Jing Yuan is disappointed you joined the Stellaron Hunters but not surprised when he found out. He either found out due to Cloud Knights who put two and two together/saw you with Blade OR you and Blade met him during a mission on the Loufu.

Okay but think of this, y'know how the Stellaron Hunters can bascially make a hologram of themselves onto the express? Imagine Blade trying to intimidate the express then his child just appears like-

Blade: "And I'll ensure my blade pierces through your-" Child: *Random child hologram appears* "Dada!!" Blade: *His demeanor changes as the mini hologram of his child appears, he looks at the child* "You're meant to be asleep...here let me take you to bed or else your mother will be mad"

*Cue The Astral Express Family Confusion*

He refuses to admit he has a weakness to you and his child. Like no he is not making you breakfast in bed just because and no he did not just steal a shop full of toys for his kid.

Blade lets you and your kid style is hair and if he's feeling up to it, he might let you put silly make up on. Imagine him going into a Stellaron Hunter meeting and his hair is braided into pigtails and he has pink sparkly make up on.

He cares about his small family...a lot...so if he sees you or his kid with the slightest cut he'll be quick to patch it up and if you ask nicely enough. Maybe kiss it better. (He won't admit he was worried though, just lecture you to be careful)

You're the only one who can see his more soft and caring side, especially alone. If you're with him with others, people will definitely notice how he treats you better then them.

You probably have scary dog privileges, he doesn't trust anyone to not hurt you so he'll come with you everywhere. And if you insist to go alone? He'll ask someone else to go with you so he can ensure your safety. (He's just doesn't wanna loose you again)

His child is home-schooled, even though he is scary and can probably convince someone to teach him at a school, he has a feeling they'd get bullied and/or no one will come near them if they knew he was the father.

All the Stellaron Hunters help teach them, and they even teach them additional things...

Blade: Kafka. Stop teaching them how to shoot a gun Kafka: Come now Bladie, they should know how to protect themselves. Blade: THEY'RE 4.

Your kids eyes are the same colour as yours and their hair the same as Blade...well his old hair anyways.

He's a good husband still, perhaps a bit more violent...never to you and your kid though of course. Just cold to others ESEPCAILLY if they're taking bad about you or his kid.

One of the reasons he acts this way towards youse is because he wants to make up for the amount of time lost when he was gone. So making you happy and ensuring you're still okay and healthy is his top priority. If you or your kid thinks he's getting too much than tell him and he'll agree to stop. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable either. He just want you and your kid to be safe and happy.

Will be working on the other 2 current requests I have as soon as I can, apologies for the small break :>

This is most definitely not my best work but I hope you like it regardless (┳◡┳)

#HSR #Honkai Star Rail #HSR Imagines #Blade #HSR Blade #Blade x Reader #Blade x You #HSR x You #HSR x Reader #honkai starrail x you #honkai starrail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #Honkai Starrail #🎭 masked fools

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itgetzweird08 · 1 year

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Okay But Imagine If Endeavor had a secret love child

(TW: Mentions of cheating, hints towards abuse, hints towards pregnancy)

Okay so just imagine. Me personally, Enji Todoroki does not seem like a loyal man in the SLIGHTEST with his track record. Like I could definitely see him going to clubs and hooking up with people while on missions out of the country to let off steam because he has a wife who he doesn’t love, a son that is a danger to himself and doesn’t know what it means to quit, and two other children who are ‘failed experiments’

Enji is hella motivated to accomplish his mission to create the most powerful kid, HOWEVER, he’s still human. I think deep deep down he might want some form of true love and human connection. And that’s where /she/ comes in. The gorgeous woman that he meets in a diner one late night in America, while trying to get a decent meal after a hard mission. Any place that would even come close to having something that fits his meal plan is closed, but he knows he needs to eat. So this seemed like his best option.

He enters the diner, and it’s sorta dark and is cheap as all hell. He had half a mind to turn around and just starve, but the smell of something fried hit his nose and he gave up that thought quickly. He picked his own seat, a booth in the back next to a window that hadn’t been cleaned in a while. His hand touched something sticky on the table, and his lip curled in disgust. But that curl turned into a small ‘o’ as his jaw dropped, his eyes catching the waitress that was walking towards his booth. He was never a love at first sight kind of man, especially when he gave up such a silly concept long ago, but this was enough to make him get on his knees and praise Cupid. It felt like an arrow of warmth and desire had been shot through his chest. He had a fire quirk but nothing had made him feel so hot.

Rei and the kids were nothing but a distant thought all the way in the back of his brain stem when the woman approached his table. She seemed other worldly, tall and full and brave and soft. Something about her full curls and dark skin gave nothing less than goddess. There was so much to look at but there felt like so little time to take in everything she had to offer.

A soft clearing of her throat though brought him out of his stupor.

“Can I get you anything, sugar?”

The nickname made him blush, heat rushing to his face. It was a miracle his skin didn’t alight with his flame. “Yes- my apologies. Let me get, um,” here he was, sweating and stuttering like a school boy. Pathetic- he was pathetic. Before he could get truly angry at himself, she laughed, and the sound was like a drug.

“Here, you seem like you’ve been working hard. Let me get you a coffee and a proper menu, and I’ll come back for ya. Sound good?”

And all he could do is nod with a fry mouth, his face so hot he could’ve sworn his quirk was activated.

When she came back, she poured him a coffee, asking if he was from around while he browsed the menu. He said no, and told her of his hero work and his home in Japan. She listened with open ears and heart, finding herself sitting in the booth to listen to the scarlet haired man. She took the extra mug on the table, pouring herself a cup and loading it with mini creamers and sugar packets. It was a complete contrast to Enji’s own pitch black cup. But he didn’t mind. He honestly found it cute. He wondered if the sugar in the coffee was apart of what made the woman so sweet.

One cup of coffee turned to two. And that two turned to three with two waffle specials and a bowl of fruit to share. That ended up being a free meal for him and a ride home for her after her long shift. And the kiss at the door, well…you can guess where that led.

He left in the morning before she could wake, as he had a flight to catch by that noon. But he left her with a parting gift: his cell number and the large jacket he gave her when the night breeze got too cold.

Their affair continued for a while. It didn’t help Enji that Touya was putting himself in more danger, Rei seemed to be increasingly more difficult to deal with, and like her body got tired of the constant trying for his perfectly quirked child. And he knew it was wrong, of course he did, but when had that ever been enough to stop him? He began making up missions and lies, just to fly back across the sea to see his gorgeous waitress. And every time he left her a gift. A diamond charm bracelet, a new pair of shoes, a heart felt note with Godiva chocolates. And all she did in return was make him feel alive, like his life was worth more then it ever had been.

Six months.

It all lasted six months.

That was until he got the call from Rei, mid flight across the ocean, that she was pregnant. All thoughts of love and happiness and the small whisp of desire to leave his family behind and start a new one with his lover was erased. He had a feeling. This was it, his perfect child. He had the pilot turn the plane around, leaving his doll with one last parting gift.

The baby growing within her.

This time? He didn’t look back.

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my-unorthodox-life · 7 days

Text

okay can i vent for a minute? get real personal with all y'all?

i've been a tumblr user since i got my first tablet at age 12, over a decade of having at least one active blog (usually more) so it's safe to say i've both gotten my fair share of hate and found ways of using this app to benefit me and keep me detached from this hate

currently i have 4 active blogs, my main where i do the typical reblogging and updates on my fanfics, this one where i post like a proper blog and reblog jewish things that matter to me, my mental health recovery blog where i talk about my eating disorder and ptsd, and my adult one where i reblog fun sexy stuff and chat about the struggles of dating as sex positive people with trauma.

all very important to me and all have various levels of anonymity when it comes to knowing about me as a person. some have my name, some a nickname, one just my age. plus various tidbits so people know what to expect from my posts and what we can chat about, basic blog rules essentially

in the past few months as antisemitism has gotten more and more common place i of course get more anon hate, i don't turn of inboxes since i do get nice stuff from time to time, and that's kind of the territory of running a blog (i had a trans rights one in the age of kalvin garrah, i think i'll live)

out of those four blogs the one that gets the most antisemitic messages, i mean full paragraphs of truly vile ramblings that read like a nazi fever dream, is the one for my mental health recovery. a blog that i block all but mutuals on, meaning either a stranger or someone i've interacted with is sending these messages

i've started replying to them, cause i feel if they want to be mean and make a fool of themselves i might as well let everyone see (poor guy keeps sending me weird reviews of "my" wattpad fics. i've never had a wattpad account but this doesn't seem to stop him), but what gets me is that blog has the least personal information on it. no name or nickname, no hobbies or interests listed, nothing about what i do for work beyond "pet care", and the only mention of my religion or politics was one post that joking about how my mental health often gets worse around the high holy days (very demure, very mindful)

and yet that's the blog that gets straight up death threats, not even disguised as anything else, just straight up calling me a pig who deserves to burn. not the personal blog where i've posted about israel and palestine, or about dating while religious, or hell even this one that might as well be a "i'm a sensitive jewish minded person! thoughts?" blog.

no the one blog that people feel safe harassing is the nondescript recovery and relapse blog. that's where people feel comfortable.

and it makes me sad, not because of what was said, but because it *was* said. that there's people out there comfortable enough in their bigotry to go up to someone and spew vile hate like it's nothing, but only of course if they can't put a name or face to the person they're talking to

what this reminds me of is when i was in high school i had an art teacher who didn't stand for antisemitic jokes, and there were a lot in my school. one day a kid just asked him "Mr.Dexter, are you a jew?" and his response really stuck with me. he said "It doesn't matter, maybe I am, maybe I used to be, maybe my wife is. But you shouldn't not say mean things just because you don't want to get in trouble, you shouldn't say them because you know it's wrong. If you didn't know, you wouldn't ask."

and i think that really sums up all these trolls i've seen running through jewish blogs or even ones that casually mention it, they know it's wrong but the aren't saying it to a jewish face, they're just saying it to the idea of judaism

these people wouldn't walk up to you on the street and look you up and down and say half of what they feel comfortable typing, but here where they can not only hide their face, but seek out a target that has hidden their own they've found a way to give themselves free reign to say and do whatever they want. to them it's not a person on the other side of the screen, it's the strawman caricature of a jewish person, out here just for them to yell at to get whatever anger they have out of their system

of course there are some people who would say truly despicable things to a random person on the street, but cmon is that person really on tumblr hunting through buzz words to send hate?

anyways i know the compassionate thing to do would be to pray for them to heal what's hurting them so bad, but yanno what, they can suffer a bit first

#jumblr #jewish #jewblr #jewish conversion #jewitch #tw antisemitism #antisemitic asks #peace and love stay safe out here 🫶🕊️#sorry for any typos glasses are off and i think faster than i type

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dystopicjumpsuit · 4 months

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OC Sunday: Mic Dhorhil, the grumpiest bartender on Coruscant

A jaded Devaronian bartender with a complicated relationship to the Pyke syndicate. He absolutely judges your drink order. Don’t be fooled by his sardonic and guarded exterior: he might keep a slugthrower behind the bar (just in case), but he feeds the stray tooka who lives in the alley behind 79’s every night after he closes.

The face of a man who just had to clean up the used condoms from the floor of the refreshers at 79's. He is begging people, for the love of the Force, to use the trash compactor. Art by me 🩵

More info below the cut! Content warning for non-descriptive violence.

Overview

Name: Mic Dhorhil (pronounced Mick like Jagger, not like two turntables and a microphone) Birth year/age: 51 BBY (32 at end of the Clone Wars) Species: Devaronian Pronouns: he/him Orientation: bi/pan Home planet: Oba Diah Current location: Coruscant Occupation: grumpiest bartender on Coruscant; babysitter of one (1) pain in the ass Zabrak who is definitely old enough to know better Affiliation: 79’s bar Alignment: chaotic neutral Family: Branna Dhorhil (mother), Mhorig Durand (father, estranged), Oisin and Draig (family of the heart)

Physical characteristics

Height: 6’4”/193cm without the horns Eyes: amber Hair: bald Skin: green Tattoos/piercings/identifying marks: facial and ear piercings (and one more—can you guess?); tattoos on arms, back, and chest; significant scarring on face and body

Personal history:

Mic was born and raised on Oba Diah, the son of single mom Branna Dhorhil. He never met his father, and Branna never talked about him. When Mic started secondary school, he met Draig, the young Zabrak who would become his lifelong best friend. Draig was small for his age, and he had lost his mother very suddenly only a few months before. Because of this, an older bully made the mistake of thinking he would be an easy target. Unfortunately for the bully, Mic was not small for his age. He stepped in and kicked the bully’s ass, with the result that both Mic and Draig were suspended.

Draig was distraught at the prospect of having to tell his father, Oisin, what had happened, when Oisin was already dealing with so much following the death of his wife. Branna was working the night shift at the time, so she was home. She recognized Draig immediately, as she worked with Oisin at the Oba Diah spaceport. She patched up the boys and got them a snack, then commed Oisin to explain what had happened. Oisin came to collect Draig, and they both stayed for dinner.

From that point on, the boys were inseparable, and the Dhorhil house was basically Draig’s second home. They formed a short-lived punk band, The Horny Devils, which played shows in Oisin’s garage once a week for their legions of adoring fan (it was Branna. Branna was their legions of adoring fan).

When Mic and Draig were in their second year of secondary school, Oisin collapsed at work. He was diagnosed with an aggressive illness, and the treatment was prohibitively expensive due to the Pyke syndicate’s monopoly on all medical goods and supplies on Oba Diah. The boys, being enterprising teens with endless self-confidence and very little impulse control, hatched a plan to break into the Pyke compound and steal the medication.

It did not go well.

They made it out, barely. They managed to get the medication and take it to Oisin, but unfortunately, they also got caught on security holovids. The Pykes, being the Pykes, didn’t take too kindly to being robbed by a couple of punk kids, and they put a bounty on both boys. The first hunter that found them cornered them in the Dhorhils’ home. Draig lost an eye to the hunter’s vibroblade before Branna managed to disarm and kill the bounty hunter with his own knife.

They fled Oba Diah that night. Branna smuggled Oisin and the boys into the Oba Diah spaceport and stole a shuttle, then took them all to Coruscant to disappear and start over in the lower levels. Branna never told Oisin or the boys what she did to smooth things over with the Pykes, but eventually, the bounty was lifted. Nevertheless, Mic and Draig continued to give the Pykes a wide berth.

Mic started working as a busboy to help Branna while they struggled financially. Eventually, he worked his way up to become a bartender, crafting cocktails in some of the hottest bars in the upper levels. He dreamed of starting his own traditional Devaronian pub, and to help save money for that goal, he started working the closing shift at 79’s every night after he finished up at his regular job. Eventually, he scraped together the funds to start his own place in the Entertainment District, but he continued to work the closing shift at 79’s to make ends meet.

Personality:

In the dictionary, next to the definition of “done,” you will find the above holo of Mic. That being said, he has a spectacularly long fuse. He doesn’t tolerate harassment or bullies, and the fastest way to find out what he looks like when he’s annoyed is to fuck with his customers, coworkers, or family (and he includes Oisin and Draig in that category). He’s reserved and quiet, but he has a wicked sense of humor, if you’re lucky enough to be able to overhear his commentary.

He has Opinions™ about certain drinks, and he might not say them out loud, but you can feel the judgment if you come in and order a Green Zygerrian (like he just keeps green cream on hand, what the kriff do you think this is, a dairy?).

Aside from his family, Mic tends to hold people at a distance. It takes a long time to gain his trust, and even longer for him to feel truly comfortable around someone. Having witnessed how his father’s absence impacted Branna, Mic is very, very guarded about romance. He needs to get to know someone very well and form a strong connection with them before he’ll consider getting physical. But once he’s in? He’s all in. No games, no messing around: he knows what he wants, and he’ll be very upfront about it. He just needs to be sure his prospective partner is on the same page before he lets himself get involved.

Due to his personal history with the crime syndicates (not to mention his family’s nebulous respect for the law), Mic has an innate distrust of authority in general and the police in particular. He keeps a low profile, but when the Corrie Guard comes to 79’s, he’s on full alert. Oddly enough, Commander Fox is one of his favorite customers. Maybe he feels a deep spiritual connection to the Marshal Commander’s exhausted ori’vod energy.

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod

#star wars oc #oc sunday #oc: mic dhorhil #star wars #the clone wars #dystopicjumpsuit draws #dystopicjumpsuit writes

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ohtobeleah · 11 months

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One Hit Wonder // Bob Floyd

Summary: Robert Floyd was a pacifist, he didn’t enjoy confrontation or anything that resembled an argument. He preferred to use logical responses and persuasive reasoning to identify situations that might not work well in his favour otherwise.

Warnings: Harassment. Mentions of pregnancy. Violence resulting in death. Bob Floyd x F!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Author Note: Day Fifteen of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Self Defense. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

He wasn’t the most popular kid in high school. Sure he had his buddies, the odd teacher who’d check in on him from time to time to see how he was doing and the occasional overzealous cheerleader who’d try to wear his glasses on a dare. But the ever looming threat that was the majority of the school football and lacrosse teams still managed to shine through all Bob's weak safety nets.

Knowing he didn’t have the constitution, the strength or the ability to protect himself against six or seven football players at any given time, Bob used his critical thinking skills and offered free tutoring for anyone who promised not to beat him up behind the quad on his way out.

It worked in high school and all throughout university, it never seemed to phase him all that much during the Naval Academy though because everyone was there for the same reason. Every person on base had a shared interest. It didn't matter what you were eventually going to do—everyone was there for one special goal. To pass basic. So, for a while—Robert Floyd got to let his guard down. He got to just enjoy existing instead of trying to safeguard his existence.

“Is there a reason that you’re staring at me?” Bob didn't realise he’d spaced out until your voice was pulling him back from a perfectly designed world where he, of all people, got the pretty girl standing just a few metres away from him minding her own business. You were standing across the kitchen of his buddies flat. He’d just moved in and Bob was spending the weekend catching up before he was being stationed out to lemoore.

In Bob's mind you were beautiful. He’d never seen such a beautiful woman before. And he really didn't mean to stare, but your laugh was like a siren call, calling him over to fall in love over and over and over again with the beautiful woman standing across the kitchen.

“Do I have something on my face or is my top just a little too revealing and you have a perfect shot at my chest?” You were only being sarcastic, but it wouldn’t surprise you if the man with baby blue eyes agreed with your statement.

But he didn’t, which was even more surprising.

“Oh no–” Bob's eyes widened at your accusation, he felt like he couldn't breathe as he took a step backwards in a non threatening manner. “I just thought you had really nice–” Before Bob could finish his sentence, you were jumping in to finish it.

“Tits?”

“Eyes–” Bob corrected you immediately. He didn’t want you believing he was some sort of pervert before he even had the chance to properly introduce himself. “I think you have really nice eyes.” You had to smile to yourself a little at the sight of the obviously flustered man who stood across the small kitchen from you. He seemed harmless enough. “I’m Bob—“

“Y/n—“ It’s how the two of you met, in that dingy little apartment in that kitchen that couldn’t have fit more than three people in it at any one time. But Bob knew that you were going to be his wife someday—he didn’t know exactly how he was going to pull that trigger or how in the world he was going to get you to fall in love with him, but he knew.

And you weren’t sure what exactly it was, but the way Bob made you feel effortlessly beautiful and naturally loved had you dropping to your knees to cup his flushed cheeks when he nervously asked you to marry him right after he got back from a mission he swore could have been his last.

“You and the little guy are all I need.” Bob whispered against your lips when you kissed him so passionately it nearly knocked him off balance. “I love you so much, just wanna be yours till my dying days.”

“Robert Floyd, you are my best friend, I love you so so much!”

The wedding was set to be a pretty simple ceremony in a registry office. You didn’t want the fuss that came with a full disclosure wedding. It was supposed to be just you and Bob and your witness. Everything would have been perfect, simple and efficient.

But then your soon to be husband was given his new posting, and that saw you and Bob packing up your lives in Lemoore to settle in North Island, where a whole new can of worms opened for the two of you.

“You’re getting married!?” You knew it was Phoenix, Bob always spoke so highly of her. “Holy Cannoli I hope you don’t plan on going swimming with that thing on.” She teased as she took you into a warm embrace. “You’ll sink to the bottom.”

“I’d been saving since we met.” Bob interjected as Phoenix stepped back and took in the sight of you. “We’re expecting in January, little guys coming around Y/n’s birthday.”

“Bob—“ Phoenix cooed as you reached out to place her hand on your stomach, Natasha Trace was the first of the dagger’s to formally be introduced to you. “You never said anything.” The bird strike hit all the more harder now. Phoenix knew she carried precious cargo but now the stakes were even higher. Bob had a fiancée and a baby boy on the way. “Why didn’t you tell us, tell me?”

“I just wanted to protect what was most important to me.” Bob answered quickly. He always kept you close to his heart, always. “Y/n here, she’s my best friend, always has been since she swore I was being a creeper.” You had to chuckle at the memory of the night the two of you first met. “But you guys, Fanboy, Rooster, Packback, Coyote—even Hangman but don’t go saying that out loud, are my family now too—and I want my family to know who’s the most important person to me.” Bob paused for a moment but both you and Phoenix knew what he was about to say before he said it. “Just in case something happens to me, you guys are gonna be her family too.”

“We’ve got her Bob.” Phoenix cooed as she brought you in for a gentle hug once more. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

You had to take a second to really sink in the moment. These were the people who swore every day to protect your fiancé. These were the people he truly considered family. These were his people and in turn they were yours. And it truly sunk in as a rowdy group of men burst through the Hard Deck front doors. These were Bob's people.

“I’m so happy to meet the woman who keeps my best friend coming home every night.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Well well well–” It was the Texan tone that gave the cock sure aviator away as he came up beside you. “I gotta say, you sure look mighty fine this evening, Mrs Floyd.” Jake cooed as he stood beside you, watching as you ran a gentle hand across your growing baby bump.

“Thanks Hangman.” You chuckled softly as you watched your soon to be husband over at the bar with Rooster and Fanboy. He looked so happy, so full of life and excitement. “I feel like a blimp but I appreciate the compliment.” It had only been about a month or so since you had settled into your new surroundings. You and Bob would have loved to have been married by now, but the Daggers had other ideas when you had dropped the bomb on them that you were going to do an elopement style ceremony at a registry office. No fuss, no extra expenses, just the two of you and all the love you could possibly give one another.

But here you were, at your joint Bach party that Hangman and Rooster had every so kindly set up for the long weekend. How in the hell they had managed to get the entire dagger squad the weekend off was beyond you–but nevertheless you were thankful for the experience. Even if you were pregnant in Vegas with a bunch of Naval Aviators running a muck in the casino.

“How’s the baby on board going?” Jake asked as he hooked his arm with yours and walked with you over to the bar.

“He feels like some fries and a virgin mango magatia if you're really wondering.” You smirked as Jake pulled out his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. He should have seen that one coming. “

“Coming right up.” Jake made sure you were situated up on the stool beside your soon to be husband before he left you to fetch your food. Bob couldn't take his eyes off you whenever you were in his proximity. He couldn't breathe at the sight of you in that bodycon dress. The white one that screamed bride to be. But the sash slung across your shoulder did that too, as did his own. Only his said Groom and wasn't as pretty on him as it was on you.

“Hangman getting you some food baby?” Bob cooed as he kissed your cheek.

“Yep, and my feet are killing me.” You sighed as you leaned in to rest your head on Bob's shoulder. “But I'm so glad we’re doing this, getting this opportunity.”

“They're good people aren't they?” Bob didn't drink, but he had been nursing a rum and coke for about half an hour now. The ice had mentled and watered it down, which made it easier for him to sip on. “Reckon spuds gonna like them?”

“Yeah, they are.” You agreed kindly as you watched Rooster and Fanboy carry on over tequila shots. “They needed this more than us, this weekend–but they did it for us.” Bob nodded as he let his hand fall to your stomach. “And yeah–Spuds gonna love them, but not as much as he’s gonna love his dad.”

“You know husband and father were two things I thought I'd never be.” Bob admitted to you quietly as he kissed your hair on top of your head as you sat with him up at the bar, surrounded by drunk idiots ready to waste their money. “So thankyou for giving me the chance to become both.” You simply answered by picking your head up off Bob's shoulder and kissing him softly. He was the life of your life, your best friend, your life partner and father of your child. “I love you, my bride to be.”

Robert Floyd was a pacifist, he didn’t enjoy confrontation or anything that resembled an argument. He preferred to use logical responses and persuasive reasoning to identify situations that might not work well in his favour otherwise. So as you smiled up at him and brushed his hair behind his ear, Bob was very in tune with the man off to the left of the bar who had been watching you ever since Jake had helped you waddle over.

“You’re such a dork, I love you.” Your voice echoed around in Bob’s head as the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. His guy was practically undressing you with his eyes. But once again, Bob Floyd was a pacifist. So until it became a problem to worry about? There was no problem to worry about.

“I love you more.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“PAYBACK!” You sat at the blackjack table with wide eyes watching as the daggers cashed in their chips. “You can't be serious, that's all your money!” Bob's hand gripped at your thigh beside you, he wasn't paying with much but he had a few chips to play.

“Yeah and I could double it, mama.” The term of endearment was something the entire squad used. You loved it, it made you feel all warm and fuzzy and accepted by your Fiance’s friends. “And if I double it I'm giving it to you and Bob for the honeymoon you two are insistent on not having.”

“We’re gonna have a newborn man, it's not the time.” Bob sighed, he’d tried to explain it a few times before now that the timing of it all wasn't right. The two of you would save for a rainy day and once your son was a little bigger, the three of you would go on a family holiday. “Keep your money.”

“Yeah, it's really not necessary Payback, honest.” You smiled as you got up from your seat at the black blackjack table. “I'm gonna go pee, I’ll be right back, Bob honey will you text me if you guys move?” Bob was going to ask if you wanted him to come with you, he would have asked, but he knew what the answer would be. You were fiercely independent, and even a quick trip to the bathroom alone made you feel like you could take on the world. Especially now with a whole human growing inside of you. So, Bob nodded and agreed, he didn't bother to ask.

“Course love.”

Bob watched as you waddled away, the love of his life, his best friend, the mother of his unborn child. You were his entire world and there wasn't a single thing on this planet he wouldn't do for you.

“Are you excited man?” Payback asked as he counted his chips. “You're gonna be a dad, how wild is that?”

“I'm nervous, that's for sure.” Bob sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “But yeah–I’m excited, I'm really excited and I'm ready to be there for whatever those two ever need ever.”

“She's one beautiful woman man i'll give you that.” Payback added. “You’re good for one another, you bring out the best in each other.” Bob knew all this already, The two of you had been together for five beautiful years. And in those five years there had been many men that had tried to take you away from him. But you always chose Bob and that gave him comfort and reassurance in his place by your side. It was your world after all and he was just happy to live in it. And as Bob caught the sight of the same man approaching you as you walked away from the blackjack table that had been lingering around you by the bar, he stood up to head after you.

“She thought I was staring at her boobs the first night we met.” Bob added as he chuckled at the memory. It was his favourite, it was hard to beat the first time he ever laid eyes on his soon to be wife.

“Were you?” Payback asked curiously as the dealer got ready to start the next game.” Staring at her tits?” Bob thought about it for a moment before he nodded.

“Yeah, a little.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

These days it was getting harder and harder to waddle around by yourself, but you enjoyed the independence of it all. You hadn’t even made it to the bathrooms before a man was approaching you on your way. You tried to avoid his eye line but even when you averted his gaze he was still honed in on you.

“I couldn't help but to notice the sash.” He paused at your side and turned on his heels, walking with you towards the bathroom. “Getting married?”

“Well if you noticed the sash and could read basic english you'd know the answer to that question already, wouldn't you.” You grumbled as you waddled down the hall with a hand over your bump.

“Very true, very true.” He replied, keeping in step with your stride. “I was wondering if I could buy you a drink? Non-alcoholic unless you’re into that kinda thing.” That's when you had to stop yourself from putting one foot in front of the other just to process what exactly was going on.

“I'm sorry, but are you trying to hit on a pregnant woman who's clearly on her bachelorette party?” You laid it out as clear as day for the man who smirked at you, he was basically undressing you with his eyes.

“What can I say, I have a thing for pregnant women.”

“Well I can assure you, this pregnant woman is not interested.” You hissed as you began waddling to the nearby bathroom again. “I appreciate the flattery, really, but I'm happily engaged, committed and very satisfied as you can probably see the consequences of.”

As you tried to walk away from the man who had been following you around the casino all night reached out to grab your arm. In shock you paused and turned to frown at him.

“Listen you little bitch I was just being fucking nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth as he leaned into your personal space. “You dont get to talk to me like that, blow me off like I’m some fucking dork.”

“She actually has a thing for dorks man so I can assure you she would be blowing you off if she thought you were one.” Thank god Bob had followed you because right now independence was the last thing you were in search of. “Let go of my wife.” It made your heart skip a beat at the mention of you being Bob's wife. It must have just slipped in the heat of the moment but the man did as he was told.

“You're marrying him?” The man laughed obnoxiously in your face, it was clear he was intoxicated, you could smell it on his breath and see it swirling in his eyes.

“She is.” Robert Floyd was a pacifist, he didn’t enjoy confrontation or anything that resembled an argument. He preferred to use logical responses and persuasive reasoning to identify situations that might not work well in his favour otherwise. “So how about you back off and I'll grab you a cup of coffee, you look like you need one man.”

“Your wife here's really pretty.” He snickered to himself as he pushed your hair behind your ear. “I could cum in my pants just thinking about all the nasty things I'd wanna do with her.” As the man looked over at Bob, you took the opportunity to slap him straight across the face. The impact echoed in the hall and even Bob felt the sting. It was a solid slap, hard enough for him to let go of your arm so that you could walk away towards where Bob stood. “You fucking bitch!”

“I'm okay.” You reassured him. “Let's just get out of here.”

“I've got you.” Bob cooed as he checked you over quickly with panic filled eyes. “I'm here, I've got you.” They checked over every visible part of you before he pulled you into him for a hug so loving and protective, his chin grazed the top of your head as he eyed off the man who had been harassing you. “Come near my wife again and we’re gonna have problems man, I'm not kidding, stay away from her.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” It must have been the bruised ego, but there was a definite switch that had been flipped inside the mind of this man you didn't even know the name of. “You mother fucker!” Bob knew this was escalating far too quickly, he needed to get you out of the way. So he turned his back on the man who was running right at him with balled fists and anger written in the wrinkles on his face.

Robert Floyd turned his back on the danger running right at him. He couldn't offer tutoring sessions or use critical thinking skills to alter the course of the next few moments, because all he could think about was making sure he protected you. His best friend, the mother of his child.

“Bob!” You gasped as he shoved you just enough to get you out of the way. You didn't see when Bob turned sharply to get one good and solid right hook in against the man's cheek, but he did. He got one punch–his only punch ever thrown. But to defend his wife, in self defence, Bob would do just about anything. Bradley Bradshaw had been coming out of the bathroom himself when he saw the hit play out. It was like time slowed down entirely as Bob pushed you away as gently as he could to keep you from being attacked.

“I told you to stay away from her!” Bob shouted as the man stumbled back slightly off balance. “Next time I'm not gonna ask you again pal–” His knuckles were throbbing, but Bob expected that. He’d never throw a punch in self defence before. “Go get a drink of water before I call security.” In Bob's own way, it was his way of still seeing the very good in everybody, you admired him for that. But something didn't seem right as Bob turned around to head back towards you, shaking his hand and mouthing a soft ‘Ow” your way.

Bob had defended his family and he didn't feel sorry about it for a second, if anything he had a hard on and just wanted to get back to the hotel so he could ravage you. But Bob's single hit had done nothing but anger the man further. It didn't do much to stop the man from slamming his fist as hard as he could into the back of Bob's head.

“Fucking cunt!” The man shouted as Bob stumbled forward and smacked his head on the corner of the wall. You wouldn't hear anything over your own screams. You couldn't see anything past the tears in your eyes and you couldn't see the man running down the hall with security right on his tail.

But you saw the blood, the thick crimson blood that had begun to leak out of Bob's head from the impact of the hit he’d sustained. Bile rose in your throat as you sank to your knees before him as he laid on his stomach, bleeding profusely from his head.

“Oh no–” You didn't know what to do. “Bob honey.”

“I love you.” It was struggled, but you heard him. “I love you, my wife, my child.”

“Bob?’ You coraked out. “Baby open your eyes.” You begged Bob as he laid skill in a pool of his own blood. “Oh god Bob no!” Panic had begun to take over your body as you tried to wake up the father of your baby boy. “Bob, open your eyes! Please baby, you're okay.” Again you tried to shake him as hands came to touch your shoulder.

“Holy crap, Y/n–” Rooster gasped as he tried to find a pulse. “SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!” He shouted at the people now surrounding the scene in the hall. You couldn't breathe, but you could feel Bob's blood on your hands as you wiped them against your dress.

“Baby wake up, come on you're okay, I know you are–” People don't just die like this do they? One minute they're there and the next second they’re gone. This doesn't happen right? It couldn't happen to you? Could it? “Bob, I love you, you love me, if you love me you'll wake up, you have to! You can't leave me here, not like this baby this isn't how you leave.”

“Holy fuck what the hell happened!” Jake asked as he raced over. He was the one who pulled you back as Bradley did as he could to see if he could find a pulse. He couldn't. “Y/n, Y/n, listen to me, are you hurt? Is that your blood?” Jake frantically searched over you to see if you were bleeding, but as it turned out, it was just Bob's blood. “Bradshaw what the hell happened!?”

“He was sucker punched.” Was all Rooster said. “I dont even know if he got a shot in first but that son of a bitch fucking hit him!”

“He was just here.” You mumbled as you shook in Jake's arms, clearly in shock. “He was just here, he can't be gone, he's just hurt.” Jake held you in his arms as you cried out for Bob, the love of your life, the father of your child and your best friend. “He cant be gone, he was just being Bob.” Jake locked eyes with Bradley as he looked over his shoulder. He shook his head, Bob wasn't breathing.

“You're gonna be okay–” You weren't stupid. You knew that Jake had said you and not Bob, because he couldn't say Bob. He couldn't give you that hope. “We’ve got you, we promised.” Robert Floyd was a pacifist, he didn’t enjoy confrontation or anything that resembled an argument. He preferred to use logical responses and persuasive reasoning to identify situations that might not work well in his favour otherwise.

But in this case, he did just enough to keep his family safe. The family he’d never get to see grow old. ***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

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